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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.