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Seeds were more
trustworthy than he expected,
generously bringing up things not planted:
candyweed, violets, skullcaps; opportunity’s
host to diversity.
Then there was grievance. The azalea died, magnolias
browned as if tourniquets strangled their branches.
When the gardner went white, you couldn’t tell him
from gulls or the fiberglass Hatteras,
the clot black as the nerve in this pencil as I write.
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