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16 the minnesota review David McKain Freedom Dream Dreaming last night I watched myself lift off at a banquet to read a broadside by Schegel, I think the name was Schegel. I watched myself rise and anchor on a chandelier, looking down at faces for a reason why: it was dark at sea except for candles, a light that dipped when waiters passed rocking like a ship or a shadow. With a whisper I steadied to read starting in the middle, "Listen, whenever you must die or choose to fight someone else's war, never wear initials or a pin, a uniform. Learn to fly instead, shape your mouth like wind and push your breath to call whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop." I stopped to hold the broadside up and show them cranes in profile — two over two, flying in tandem, flexing as they stretched their long necks pushing away clouds. The printed words had cracked and hatched into birds that flew above our heads, floating slow motion out to sea: they quelled the waters and stood the candle-shadows upright. I had dreamed of freedom: the waiters disappeared, the servants vanished. ...

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