All Bright Wings

Boston Poetry Magazine

by Christina Murphy


“Things can harden meaningfully in the moment of indecision.”
― John Ashbery, Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror

Choices arrive like blood flowing to the heart—bold / precise, beckoning toward home or away.
There are consequences to inaction, to shedding chances like skin as the hungry mirror in every life devours the moment to retain the illusion of infinity.

The sky foretells snow in abundant twilight. The church bells of Combray remember the past and toll against a background of winter trees, their bare branches delicate wands in starshine. Gusts of memory bring curved lines and opened doors promise the symmetry of grace.

The juncture of time is as dazzling as clouds disappearing into space—ephemeral gleams seeking completion but unraveling in soundless isolation. The rose trees in the garden offer the outlines of change, the fidelity of being transfigured by absolution.

All bright wings seek brilliant skies when…

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Two Years

poet's paradise

These days of heat wash me back
Eight months, a year, two years
When you told me you’d again be here.
Yet not a word, a whisper, a vibe—
No clue or hint to ride.
What would you have me say?
No matter, I’ve forgotten?
In a way, I guess I have.
If you knew me now, I think you’d laugh.
The love you always wanted,
The kind I vaguely pictured,
Is where I find myself.
And it’s better than your dream of spiritual wealth.
You wandered away
And you don’t know me anymore.
But I’ll tell you this, I’m happier than before.

moon

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