Issue 107, Summer 1988
Into sunlight they marched,
into dog day, into no saints day,
and were cut down.
They marched without knowing
how the air would be sucked from their lungs,
how their lungs would collapse,
how the world would twist itself, would
bend into the cruel angles.
Into the black understanding they marched
until the angels came
calling their names,
until they rose, one by one from the blood.