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78 In Praise of What Does Not Belong to Us Let’s not mourn quick glimpses of crest, of wing, not waste one moment cursing slow reflexes, dim eyes, fumbled focus. Listen. Mystery fruits split last night draw beetles, tanagers, motmots, draw wrens to feast on semillas, seeds. Everywhere birds go drop chances for new caimitos. Aves call, deep in leaves all around us. 79 We seldom see more than swoop, flash, gone. Listen . . . Breathe deep green lemon blossoms of song sung in tongues juicy as mangoes. ...

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