Cyclone Swans

fly through the crumbling canyon

like F-16s

Honking, to the weary traveler

beneath them

He looks up

at the wrong moment

SPLAT

and the stink is subtle

Cultures consider it good luck

and the traveler prays for it

on his weary walk

invisible years

stretch before him

and now he knows his nature

if he writes more

he can have a better life.

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