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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/621435-Columbia
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Tragedy · #621435
For the lost Columbia crew.
First day
of the second month
of the third year.

Aligned:
seven swans' migration
& backwing to earth nest.

Crowd's collective eye stings

from the sun of eighty-six
from the sun of now;

waiting, wild for
its flock to alight.

A fire.
         Moon's dark regard.

Toward neither space
nor sky
seven swans glide on
star surface,
bury bitter beak in white wing

and never return.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/621435-Columbia