They say it might have been lightning, maybe hail. It might have been fireworkson New Year’s Eve, drunken truckers boot-snuffing the smouldering matches.Somehow, they all died. A quick airborne heart-stop–engines turned off. Wind plucked feathers from wings twisting maniacally, marionettes cut loose from their strings–some skyward cemetery gutted open, raining onto cars, small thuds on…
