Sheila Murphy
Distance
Stay far enough away from people so that you can still love them.
-SEM
Ducks grieve,
sometimes
for many years. I watch
the tiny mallards’ palmate
feet fluttering through canal water,
small virtuosi a few breaths
from watchful mother
hovering in monk brown feathers.
Predators, not visible.
Only evidence
ex post facto.
If you love
you don’t not
know
everything
about the one
you beam with
a cappella intention
via keyboard fingers
hundreds of miles
from you, the same as
right next door,
weave speech,
from this movable center
of trust.
Your Home
Your home
The colors
Of pistachio
And cream
Each furniture
Dry splash
To fall
Into to
Warm away
Old sadness
Your home
My home
Embracing me
The envelope
Of love
Your eyelight
Behind beneath
Alive always
Your heart
July
July heat presses down
on walkers hatted
walking along hot pavement.
Butterflies and newborn roadrunners
canopy the place laced with still branches
while I in motion add my voice
to the vestibule of summer
living large and long.
Routine and surprise join hands.
Safety lives at the center
of my summer heart
with privacy a synonym for love.