a poem

builds a silent place out of words

 

that becomes

out of common room

sound a funnel

for the poem

a silent place where no things knock about

all things become

single sounds like a japanese bell

like "a port in air"

 

travel there

to an inner ear

unbruise the world

like new fruit

carefully packed and shipped

in clouds

 

a poem builds a silent place

where a voice

might say a song

for a sleepy kid

a bored kid

a single kid

with nothing much to do

right now

 

let the poem become

some fine powder

against the ache

of an ordinary day

 

11.8.96


All poems by Br. Tom Murphy, O. Carm.

My Poems

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