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omen black bird, wings flash white-tipped bright, arcs across the leading edge of my walk to snatch a dragonfly from air in flight. I wonder how many fleets an omen like this would launch if a seer read it to some king intent on war how many young girls would have to die if this seer in the service of that mad old warrior counted each crushed magnolia blossom on this walk a sign? thank heaven they’ve taken the flags down flags want sacrifices to make their cold blood run hot with flags folded, between you and me, we can keep this to ourselves, walk straight prose lines unbroken by omens poem © Steven Schroeder image © Mary Ann O'Donnell
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