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32 The Messenger I stood on a rock in the desert my palms turned out like two doves my face tilted the way a bell tilts before it pleases with song. Wind swept around me like God’s breath. My wings of no use to me. My dress the color of drowning. I was floating away from myself so fast I forgot what I loved. When I was human I used to climb the green hill for this same pleasure. The city of rust and smoke slithered beneath me. It’s done: never again in my life will I be only one thing. ...

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