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58 Limits The brown-headed cowbird sleuths like a witch between oaks, drops its eggs into the nests of other species. Its larger chick hatches earlier, lifts its beak for the edge of beetles, legs of cicada, mantids, mayflies. Its black body bulges like a sunset, pushing other chicks to the ground, thumps mistaken for ripe acorns. If f(x)=x2 , then the limit and the heart, clear and finite. But what if f(x)=1 /x-3 and x=3? Then the heart never stops wanting, spinning into infinity. Let x be a moon in Andromeda’s spiral, let a Chinese peasant shoot for its nucleus, let him stretch the bow and arrow, turn his lingering hurt into meat, that is, until he aims directly at your heart. ...

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