warmth to you, from

[Sheila Murphy]

isn't it every day I learn to fail you by knowing not myself
but trees only, and from here?

threads of each latitude defy the knitted scars of your pale psyche injured by the depth of sadnesses, both mine and plural

'yet' is the word most pierced although folklore has it that something to look forward to equivalates to mental health        would you

agree? with that? I look out at the dry chiseled mountain being different from breath

I want to blame myself for you

morning is not near enough but crafts a moment of the day before

for nothing I now value comes from anywhere I've been

the repartee of having hurt is paralytic do you hear my former self originate

this whisper daylight sharking down the riches upon sand

this homeopathic failure is uncountable amid the dregs of the unqualified feigning to know biblically an early science

having watched the doubling effect of ! shards on their way to being counted as the whole again

if I were a republican and you were fast fading . . .



sheila e. murphy