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Poem: The Sky Sheds Our Violence 

The Sky Sheds Our Violence

On the Fourth of July we did our best:
rockets climbed higher and higher
until they burst into fireworks—
no, cathedral domes, vaulting
the blackness with sizzling streamers.
But those streamers fell all the way down
into monstrous smoke spider legs
landing all around us.
The stars burned,
not even knowing our names.

  • The stars burned, not even knowing our names.

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