the celebratory vinegar of all by myself as ocean waves washing upon stone shores
the heavens are blue or gray and occasionally so dark that night is indistinguishable
from the fire profound that burns in the soul and seeks comfort in the infinite
what is known can be forgotten as the shape of clouds is no longer a memory
but a wistful recollection and sad wish that change would not take away more
than it returns in fleeting moments
the pool of water that beguiled Narcissus is the image in which all clarity resides
as there is only looking out, or looking in, and all emptiness is the container for
discoveries of the soul when time has more to say than space and no one can tell
the difference between hunger and longings as the passion to merge, to belong
intensifies like fire and consume that which is most desired
the language of infinity is blue rain and stone roses and the jeweled green depths
of nascent seas, unfolding as canyons within the heart's journey; what touches the
stone walls of time is impervious to change and destroyed by the changeless motion
of the heartbeat, the world turning, the sun aflame, and the bitterness of a soul that
found no solace upon the seas or comfort in the journey of fire diminished by wintry
seasons and echoes of passion within the cold
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Christina Murphy lives and writes in a 100 year-old house along the Ohio River. Her work has been published or will appear in A cappella Zoo, Modern Short Stories, Blue Fifth Review, Counterexample Poetics, and Crescent Review, among others, and has received an Editor's Choice Award and Special Mention for a Pushcart Prize.
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