We’ve met, by chance, some friends,
an elderly couple, he smiling,
she wide-eyed with dementia,
strolling the path through wood
and meadow. They cry, Look!
The Cranes, overhead!
Fifty or a hundred commas
gather in the sky as if
they do not know to what sentence
they currently belong . . .
–excerpt from “The Cranes” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Soundings East.