Tag Archives: Christina Murphy

All Bright Wings

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 freed from the darkness of hesitation.


Chariots of the Visible World

by Christina Murphy

In concentric rings of morning light, the heart embraces the paths of river banks uprighting in the sun. The brightness of light, the myriad of cloud chariots, and the depth of space understood as absence.

In the soul’s awakenings, love of the infinite is the edifice of all that is imagined. Inwardness—the root system of beliefs—holds the mind in place with knowledge of then and now blossoming.

What the mirror holds is always smaller to the gaze as the paradox of distortion converts the penitent to the truth. Half the distance, half the distance, or none, marks the loneliness and longing of fragments for the core.

In labyrinths of the heart, echoes resound: I am I am. Beneath / above the visible world are the energies and wastelands of existence, and the hope that falls wildly down to fill immeasurable spaces.