*Do I give up on making what I want?*.
It is already here. Now to navigate
each pilgrimage of thought,
where patterns take turns self-disclosing.
*Can hibiscus preen without a personality?*
I thought so for an hour
before you came. Then we had things to cover
beyond zeal and yield.
*Do the neighbors hear themselves erasing silence?*
Maybe they're a mere recording
of what will go away,
Dreams make language obsolete
*How many altitudes can be arranged at first light?*
I strive for higher elevation,
Stretch to find my pace, to reach
a tall and halfway finished place.
Sheila E. Murphy
|