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70 Allowances As when fruit trees blot the constellation’s head and loose it—thoughtless and blind—to assemble itself in the West; as when the aviary nets itself, again; as when they plant a single terrace at a time to keep from losing light; as when, under crows, the shadows totter back and forth through trash; as when the trash-fires crown in December’s trash; as when astral charts include rescue flares—and we are, so briefly, who we are. ...

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