93. To the Stars Through Difficulty: Amy Ash

Propelled by the power of loss, we drive
until black streets crossing green lawns
give way to open space,

to a place where the freshly bruised cheek
of the sky at dusk, swollen and pink,
presses against the grasslands.  A scar
of lightning mars its face.

Awaiting the night’s arrival, we see
some movement in the field.  The shaking of grass

like lashes, fluttering. Something taking flight.

— Amy Ash

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