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65 encounter Then,​in​the​bus​where​strange​eyes​are​believed​to​burn down​into​separate​depths,​ours​mingled,​lured out​of​the​crowd​like​wings—and​as​fast,​as​blurred. We​brushed​past​the​others​and​rose.​We​had​flight​to​learn, single​as​wings,​till​we​saw​we​could​merge​with​a​turn, arching​our​gazing​together.​We​formed​one​bird, focussed,​attentive.​Flying​in​silence,​we​heard the​air​past​our​feathers,​the​wind​through​our​feet,​and​the​churn of​wheels​in​the​dark.​Now​we​have​settled.​We​move calmly,​two​balanced​creatures.​Opened​child, woman​or​man,​companion​with​whom​I’ve​flown through​this​remembering,​lost,​incarnate​love, turning​away,​we​will​land,​growing​more​wild with​solitude,​more​alone,​than​we​could​have​known. ...

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