The dead birds fell without anyone
having seen them fly or being able
to imagine from where. They were black,
their eyes were closed, and no one
knew what kind of birds they were. But everyone
seized them and looked
up, at the recently and longly
infused sky.
—San Francisco and other poetic dreams | Edited by Don Brennan.
San Francisco and other poetic dreams is made possible by Writers workshop 146 Leavenworth St. San Francisco CA. Edited by Don Brennan. Program Director at jennywileysf@hotmail.com, or drop by the Community Arts Studio.