thread
the sky is shattered
its debris
clutters the world's streets
where the light came from
is a question
charred beyond recognition
heads hang out of walls
limbs unattached
rigid in their will to crawl away
but there's a bird (black
in the jagged sky)
with a twig still stuck in its beak
is it falling or flying
there's no witness
with the fullness to interpret
the intolerable direction
it must decide
is the thread the scene hangs on
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