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Brooklyn,
Baghdad, March 2003
My eyes cast down Where two bees
crawled along the rail Trying to shake the rain to fly
again. I wandered in an instant From the bridge, high
Toward Central Park West and drank... straight from the
sky.
A half a world away a lone F-16 rolls into a
gentle dive and a bunker erupts in thunder Echoing across
the ancient metropolis Drowning the calls to prayer With
the unmistakable call to war And that, unheeded, to
surrender
The west rolls into these river valleys Where
some say agrarian life began Uncertain what the future will
bring But for Saddam, Uday, Usay Little but
destruction Though that, itself, is nothing new.
I
stand and breathe deep As the cloudburst sun dries fragile
wings Bringing the air again ever closer. It's good to
be... alive good to be in Brooklyn today This rag-and-bone
shop of my heart. I'm here to learn to Fly ...or perhaps
you could say, to fly again.
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