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Here we stand.                                               

We disagree

talking about potted plants                

splitting trees

balconies strain my eyes,

stretching as far as I can see

you still don’t see, I’m still me.

We disagree.

 

The hydrangeas grow

too tall for your front yard

Don’t survive

thrive on city windowsills

But still

you offer gardens of color

For us—the excommunicated

Lovers.

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