waking to loss, not knowing
what of, how--the next
oak leaf loss?--
weaving its way through linens
& a freezing still-
gone word loss--
not cold temperature, no:
that timed, short motion--
life until,
hearing the piped catch
of fuel-engine-strut
outside I
can see exactly how
this idea globe has
no idea
of clear loss, how loss will suck
dry every corner:
lost beings--
Modersohn-Beckers, umbra
cradles I have thought
more of (less
loss--sun more lumin to float,
substanceless uber-
shadows to
scarve the still-working-face) my
friends, flat loss, reading,
even as
sun smacks the balm of day's luck,
that unheard shake of it--
loss aloud
Chris Murray Dallas, TX 26 Nov 03 11:47 p. m.
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