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The point is the seeing, the grace

beyond recognition, the ways

of the bird rising, unnamed, unknown,

beyond the range of language, beyond its noun.

Eyes open on growing, flying, happening,

and go on opening. Manifold, the world

dawns on unrecognizing, realizing eyes.

Amazement is the thing.

Not love, but the astonishment of loving.

From Alastair Reid, Growing, flying, happening

 

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