February 16, 2010

Christina Murphy


let the wings of blackbirds,
the call of mourning doves,
be letters to you;
words can fail but not the self,
opening to life and beauty like the
energy of a mountain stream,
visible within momentary forms;
the rocks and the heavens
know the stream in transcendent ways
limitless and true,
the lonely passion of purpose
within perpetual change


Christina Murphy lives in a 100-year-old house along the Ohio River. She and the river have much in common in that they both continue to move from east to west. Her poems have been published or will appear in a number of journals, most recently in ABJECTIVE, Counterexample Poetics, Splash of Red, and Blue Fifth Review.

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