maybe bachelors remind me of the limelit snowflakes dazzling the sky

limitless sequels scheduled to arrive by boat will have been claimed before we dock.
I am prepared to row
along the rows of waves.
I am industrious though not indifferent.
the mainsails hasten or they try to last beyond me.
ways through dim the quality of light I’m used to in the desert.
the low desert listlessly contrasting with the high toward santa fe
where bodywork is structured as clematis.
be well young dowry, there are agitants whose whole cloves prepare to pierce body of mind and work.
come home to zither and come home to bowls inhabiting the habitat of morning.
look into the streetlamp that defines the sky.
these are our juried peerages who flit across the mind’s rough draft receipts.

by Sheila E. Murphy

published in The Mad Hatter’s Review


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