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Small gunshot


Between cries and song, a crack folds the afternoon in two. 

Slack air fired forward down the length of a rifle, 

pellet flying skyward towards the murder of crows.


I picture the bird falling, black mass tumbling from the tapered tree top. 

Wings no longer lifted by breeze, legs drifting off 

beak closed and tilted as it collides with hard time.

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