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All week long, the iris have unfolded

shaping the air with their colored wings. Their song is invisible; they speak in tongues, as along each stalk, they break out in flight. They cannot bear their beauty, but arc to earth, as I come by to cut them free. I wrap the blooms in thinnest tissue, present them to a neighbor, and her face breaks out in petals and her eyes are full of sky.

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