..:: CONTENTS ::..

   Volume X, Issue I

..:: POETRY ::..

..:: PROSE ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I
   Volume VII, Issue II
   Volume VIII, Issue I
   Volume VIII, Issue II
   Volume IX, Issue I
   Volume IX, Issue II


Sheila Murphy


What does not get done hovers in retrospect,
as idea in the village of adagio.

My unmarked words, receptive to your cameo
appearance in a dream that ought to have included you.

An informal resurrection pieced together
mimics a propitious opening.

White oak flooring, views of the mountain,
sinecure and faith replete with instinct.

In a moment each of us will seem eternal.
As for now, we have achieved that state freehand.



//   Advance   //