Gosh Sheila a lot here for this old head to take in -glad you are still
that sky!
On 08/10/2019 22:27, Sheila Murphy wrote:
> *Routinely I Misread You That I Might Invent a Self that Fits*
>
>
>
> Back when light was raw, I trespassed on your aura.
>
> That was then and made for evening as it landed,
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> as it spaced apart our twinned intentions separate from
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> the sprawling situations that returned like copper,
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>
>
> We would warm ourselves and each amid unlikely fabric
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> like bamboo that did not scratch, just as wool became
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> so technical you’d think it’s cotton,
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> for the ravishing good times we claimed and claim again,
>
>
>
> As though sufficient youth were played against
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> the odds of flowering or just returning to the mood
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> we wintered through in seeming youth
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> with larger numbers near descriptive passages.
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>
>
> How is it still difficult to enact our sun sign
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> when a painter’s all we have become, each one of us.
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> I told my friend that seeing her resembled learning
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> that a deity had been there when I thought that none existed.
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>
>
> Now I know, I know the trees are wizened and the line of code
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> that makes me want to cradle you can be misread.
>
> Routinely I misread you that I may invent a self that fits.
>
> I used to be accused of music in my speech and soul.
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>
>
> A shame that blunted spirit meant that when I spoke to him
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> I had to hold my shoulders close, that I might protect
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> the center of a muscular commitment
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> to what I would be and am and will remain.
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>
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> There are constant reasons to give up, I read people, picture my mentor
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> who said never that; the guru now says never that, stay whole.
>
> Are chance procedures relevant, how likely is the yield I see?
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> It does not matter there is darkness, I retrieve it and I weave,
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>
> As though it were enough to know that any raw material
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> can be transformed, given time and tricks amid the teetering effects
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> of an unreasoned faith. What matters most is my intention
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> and what means the least is what a person I have focused on believes.
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>
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> I used to find it frightening if my love source felt despair.
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> Now no longer is the sky dependent on adoring fans. It’s still the sky.
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> And minus signs galore have not the power to retract its being.
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> I am still that sky.
>
>
> Sheila E. Murphy
>
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