Behind the mask
is the face of change.
It is a sense rather than a science, just as the beast of
courage bites the breast of fear.
I lay my leg out.
The mask of the sad one
is the suffering bear.
The mother cat
eats the blood, the still-born
kitten, and the shit
of the live ones.
The broken pots are still there,
and a bone. I've been trudging up
and down. I could drink all the rivers
blue, green, or brown.
They call them the Blood Tides.