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Spring 2016

The Last Miracle of Kitezh

Look at our sky. You’ve never seen as sky as murky and dark as this one. Strange shafts of light are all we know of the sun. We never see the stars. Have you realized, yet, that this isn’t sky?

When We Were Birds

The light shifts here, the angle lengthening through the curtained window in the back. The boy’s face, however, remains sharp and clear. Perhaps, too, there should be some rising nighttime sound: the sighs of an old house, the susurrus of a city, a gentle wind worrying the windows.