Squinting
(for Judy and Ellen)

 

some mornings are flat and hard

 

the sky's machinery

scratches a boy's name

on the side of a thin cloud

 

gears and levers humble

the loud cries of birds - finches, we think -

and the softer cries of chamiso

a bit of water plops to a red stone

 

none of this - we think - has any right

no right at all

to act separately

 

all the pieces of the morning

should announce their intentions

the sun in particular

should call ahead

then we'd be ready

for the shadow of its great looming crane

and the heartless stutter

of its childish engine


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

My Poems

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