i
What shall we do with the nameless child,
so much a part of me,
so much more than a burial record
or invisible girl?

You are music and word, flower
and garden, as you move indifferent skies
fused with life’s origins.
No one knows why a girl’s face tilts

towards the moon.

ii
Last night, the girl you already grieve
crawled from her crib
to sing as a star
spreading her wings in exquisite poverty.

Here at the world’s edge,
her living breath leaves no pattern
against the clear glass.
Here nothing is more important than music

and words.

Mark A. Murphy is a self-educated, neurodivergent, ‘Ace’ writer from a working class background. His work has appeared in The Brussels Review, Litbop, and Oddball Magazine.