A Poem by George Murray

My House is Not on Fire

From the hammock, the leaves of the tree above
are a green doily hung from a sill to catch the light.

The season is unsettled again, the flagstone’s heat
vying with the northing wind in a gentle fight

for control of the temperature. The sky is clear
as thought, the mind zoned into a spot right

below conscious being, a blue on blue on blue
emptiness that slowly fades to the blue of night.

This is the state from which I mull how love
is not a product of the space in which we meet,

but the time we spend thinking of the mere
randomity of still being here, staring through

the filigree of matter that keeps us from the light.

George Murray is the author of ten books, most recently, Problematica: New and Selected Poems, 1995-2020. He lives in St. John's, Newfoundland.