by julia hickey
an army of white blossoms advances, retreats, advances,
on a black wet road.    they weave around the wheels
of industrious, cheerful cars. (did you know  Polish troops
fought German tanks on horseback?) pink blossoms, blood.
wind’s foghorn desists, and blossoms cluster in piles, sheltering
one another from nightfalling rain. a giantess’ hand descends
upon the blossoms, tossing them into the air, into the light of
a streetlamp, into battle again. she dances a little, but then
the giant says “i am apprehensive about everything.”
the giantess replies “are you apprehensive about me?”
silence  while  blossoms advance, retreat, advance,

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