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so much string on the
kite:
it moves up and up,
farther away
but you hold on
attached by a thread
that becomes more invisible as it climbs
You stand with the ball of string
in your hand,
feeling the wind tug and slack
as the kite flies higher and smaller
Until you fly it without seeing,
by feel,
you fly it by heart.
We let go of the immediate sight:
we never let go of the thread.
------ Annette Melnicove, “Lynn’s Poem”,
April 18, 2006, reprinted with permission
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