By CHRIS SHAFER
A flock of black birds passing
An old church steeple
Leaking in the Master’s pocket
Your hand on my back
First light on the valley floor
All that hungers hurries to the surface
Chris Shafer attended high school in Louisiana, after which he enlisted in the U.S. Navy and served as a combat medic. He now resides in Los Angeles, where he focuses on writing short fiction and screenplays and fits in semesters when possible at Union Institute & University.