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7 Lingua It started like this. In delight. How could I not see the leaves ringing yellow with light, taste the berry opening on my tongue and not want to tell you. If we had never separated. If we had gone on walking hip to hip, then just the extension of the arm, wonder in the eyes, soft fruit warm in the hand, passed from my hand to yours, just this would have been enough. But I walked further to gather. You crouched waiting in hunt and what I saw was petals opening, a quickened winging! How could I not pursue it? How could I not come back to tell you with my nimble fingers then a flutter of music on my tongue? 8 My first word was look I met this missing you—meet this—thus an undercurrent of the word is love. ...

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