- Lauren Abric
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- Added 23 Jan 2007
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Dawn. First light tearing at the rough tongues of the zinnias, at the leaves of the just born. Today it will rain. On the road black cars are abandoned, but the clouds ride above, their wisdom intact. They are predictions. They never matter. The jet fighters lift above the flat roofs, black arrowheads trailing their future. The clouds have seen it all, in the dark they pass over the graves of the forgotten and they don't cry or whisper. ~Philip Levine
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