Wild Stars on Pilgrim Winds

Christina Murphy

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

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.