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April 2013, vol 9, no 1

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Francis Masat


Thoughts of Liz

Wounded by an unknown predator, she climbed into the fork of a small flowering tree, thrust her arms through, and hung there under an arched canopy – waiting perhaps. With her head propped up, she probably looked into the sun one more time before her last breath passed onto the soft fragrant breeze. I never learned more.

as I sit waiting
an arched portal opens
at the crematorium




crane