Her moist lips reflect once-concealed stars.
She cups her hand
Around the moon's edge.
She has returned and her sighs are no longer a burden.
Her eyes were a jumble of misplaced keys;
Her lips a bird,
Pecking at a snow-covered twig.
She can now sip her tea and is eager to talk.
Her fears still linger,
But the stones seem to glisten
As she steps forward.
I twirled a dried leaf, drawing memories
Of syrup and cinnamon
From the sight of mildewed apple
Set in a porcelain bowl.
You'd have it your way: No more excuses; discoveries.
I lingered on that stretch of beach we'd walked
One well-spent morning,
When we'd paused
To ponder our lives.
We agreed to measure the breadth of our hopes
Before casting off.
We'd first probe the light
Then the larger dark,
With what might take shape.
Joseph Murphy began to write some time ago,
but only recently began sending work out. He has been published
in The Externalist and Flutter Poetry Journal. Three poems will
be published in an upcoming edition of Living Poets (U.K.).