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54 Poetry & Spirituality Today, the wind rides the thighs of grasshoppers, and leaves fly like rescue from burning trees I could almost turn into something. All this talk. I’m guilty too—me, an unbeliever raising a miracle, these ungainly hoppers pelting my chest, my hips, fixing a moment to my shorts, my footfall opening one so brilliantly into flight you might think butterfly, before its wings let it down. ...

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