Some of us sang the same;
some differed or were silent,
whatever what was pressing on us wanted.
The pressure came and went,
stretched and relaxed us; slack
became strain, pressure chasing after silence.
Once one of us was stuck
singing the same three clustered little clicks.
Melodies spread from us to suit the stuck one.
Some among us wondered what
profited from our inner play of stress,
what intelligence dreamed or managed it;
others, uncertain that there were observers,
reason, or cause, were content
simply to say we sang and someone listened.
—from Rattle #54, Winter 2016
Cory Massaro: “I am fascinated by language: its sounds, its structure, its capacity for both utter honesty and absolute obscurity. I love it particularly when used to advance the sacred, the secret, and myth. Poetry is my interface with mystery, especially the little mysteries that suffuse daily life. It is peace in misunderstanding.” (website)