Black Sun

Miranda Heyman

Heads craned up at the murky
coal in the sky. Disoriented, 
the percussive murmur of wings pushed
me askew. A dense, coiling 
mass, then sparse, a horde of black
pepper sprinkled across ice. A monster spilling
like a tsunami, dousing the light. Splitting
only to knit back together.
Leisurely, they hushed, settling between
the branches, black leaves
in dimming light.

Fall, 2018 Issue

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