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26 When Fidelito Is the New Boy at School He is a frequent eclipse . . . a shadow on fire. The light breaks over the schoolyard and a hallucination of evenly cropped trees in stride moves the glass. As the dark forms of spruce pass his face, he disappears. He keeps his mouth shut and his palms open despite the steady drum of spit-wads, kid-song, and the long clock’s nervous face. Bells refuse to breathe. And the wide hours wait for doors to open. Fidelito gazes outside. There are other milder distractions: some of the children eat their shirts and some burst into rain. A road burns into a corner. In the power lines above the playground, a grackle’s steel eye murders the earth. And the sky, now perfect for flight, is open like the older mouth of our moon. ...

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