From the road I see the city
approaching. It reaches out with iron rails
and pulls itself toward me like a soldier
belly-deep in the mud. Doctors and nurses
clamp off arteries among the wounded. Cars
pass in and out of bullet holes. Iron bridges
curse like snakes. A three-legged dog hobbles
from one overturned trash can to the next.
If he finds food, I tell myself, I will take it
as an omen of good fortune. If not, I will
eat my guardian angel, before someone else
does.

It is so hard to write about how your poems hit me. But I can at least say that this one hit me.
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