Fall 2006




Visual Arts
Author Bios

the glass wall
Louis Murphy

the first eye sighs slowly.  she latches arms like burs
  into her blanket   gripping with warmth—
shudders from the air;  gloves and needles

losing out for Tomorrow i hope—
  wish—that blankets will be enough now My voice is absent,
looking through glass from the hallway.

that she never cried too softly
  is warmed steel against me, reassuring, and that
the colors of blankets faded next to her. 

the handrail was wood,  oak gavel in a land of concrete
  and words and disillusionment—she will never understand
the way that filters are a part of us all (did you think there was

an ending better than her sigh) and keep her slow
  rhythm inside of my chest,   beating out bones and blood
the lasting breath, (and now her) set to find an answer  

for why she is here lithe angel hair spirit
  twirling in the wind of memory where
no hand is allowed, only waves.

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