![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSb2QkrK4z5jU6_81UrJS6CtGr42wsc7KrSIyvm2OnXAULXYSiZ_5KFqP1a_Tcqoye0ea564g7FiSS5r7I4dlQr89PHEIQr7j5wZ-_i8UQvhioiSrQQqH-bPkAWnXdv8ov8DwsF49kWs/s400/shameonpge.jpg)
Night Flight
by Jack Morgan
Twisted her ankle
on New Year’s North Beach
so that she floated more
like a wounded bat
than a downy bay
barn owl.
As graceful as a twelve-year-old
running in her mother’s heels
down rainy hills
in morning fog
to the sound
of young pigeons.
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