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One in the Hand · Jorie Graham A bird re-entering a bush like an idea regaining its intention, seeks the missed discoveries before attempting flight again. The small black spirit tucks in its wings, softest accordian whose music is the perfect landing, the disappearance into the dangerous wintered body of forsythia. Just as from time to time we need to seize again the whole language in search of better desires. Oh if we could only imagine a better arc of flight: you get just what you want. And see how beautiful an alphabet becomes when randomness sets in, like mother tired after disappointment and keeping us uninformed—the man walking away whom we want to recall and in whom we invest the whole explanation. One in the hand, one in the mind, how clearly you know what you have, how clearly what he'll want to do, and do, when you let go. 32 · The Missouri Review ...


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