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26 The Peregrine Cast into the white amnesia of clouds he leaves this ground delighted; disappears above the lift of pigeons. It is stunning— their wings synched to an internal pattern of panic and the speck of him above, black spot moving in and out of sun. Why do they drive themselves into the open space of the field? I try to see them as he sees them—a surface disturbance, the flock that flies as one body, blind in the light, knowing one among many is no loss at all. ...

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