standing in the rain
looking through a glass darkly
the screen of knowing
masses: moments
the mottled browns of
a bird sitting on a line
before it flies off
masses: in the beginning
the organismic
fire, the womb of all, nothing
becoming something
Masses: The Way
bereft, one wanders
off the path, one arrives here
where the blue earth breathes
Masses: Words
words weasel out of
denotations, their babbling
tones leave us gasping
Masses: Kind of Blue 4
sitting stunned after
the storm, Chicken Little looks
up into the sky
Masses: Kind of Blue 3
Chicken Little flees
through the vast gloom under the
thrashing canopy
