Sheila, this poem is utterly out of reach for me, fabulous though it
sounds. Is this surrealist poetry? The notion of inverted mirrors is
intriguing but I am blown away from the first by the trombone of
evanescence.
Bill
On Tue, 4 Jun 2019 at 4:03 pm, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]>
wrote:
> The small trombone of evanescence
> tidies me away from obligation
> that has smothered pleasure.
>
> I am learning to discover joy
> in mirrors turned to face the wall.
> I hear them seek a quiet likeness.
>
> Each revealing froth of music
> risen to a cloud apart from destination.
> Theory is a home replete with open air.
>
> Every facet of the reach remains
> in my control I have forgotten
> measures of the water and the air in sound.
>
> Sheila E. Murphy
>
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