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53 Only This Time, Only This Place —at the Congress Street Bridge, Austin Between the sky, the slick water, the bats expel in a rush from beneath the bridge like breath of the ecstatic aligned with their god. Their pulse of flight, the sink and swerve of their hazarded path like current rippling on the swollen river, silk unfurled for the merchant’s hand, the raveled hem of a woman’s shawl slipped from her shoulder then lifted against the chill, the trembling wings of night, falling and falling. ...

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