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A Poem: His Regrets 

If I were different in a different life I would
tend more to the earth.

I would hold the garden beds with breezes,
the shoots becoming open windows.

Vines would go along the ground, the flowering
speak low intimacies there.

Fruit trees would be pruned. I'd wash their eyes, I'd
carry out their wishes in the heat.

There would be no border of wire, no opposite lie.
I'd carry water to the plumbs.

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