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underwater city

dd
Sandy Pool
August 1, 2011
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It’s spring. The sparrow dies instantly. Quick 
bang, the streetcar suspended. Small black 
body. You can still see white, speckled, small 
grains of rice across the back, twittering youth. 
You insist on a proper burial. Together we glide 
through the city, bird cupped in our palms. The 
concrete, post-rain, bleak and lunar. We speak 
elliptically, sleep-talk about death, wings 
immobilized in flight. The air thickens, we 
breathe out. Our hulls contain us, solemn as 
prayer, our delicate shells of bone . . .
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 5. Purchase the book to read the full piece.

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Filed Under: Book 5, Excerpts Tagged With: Book 5, excerpt, Sandy Pool, TOK

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