done with
work, he's in the yard now,
bent
over crab grass and weeds,
sorting
through
the wired fence
to get to the tomatoes,
now green.
the other life
is behind him.
those days on the train,
the coat and tie,
the business
meetings.
hands on some
vague wheel.
everyday the same.
but now this, what is he
to make of
this,
hands in the dirt,
knees
as if in prayer digging
into the earth.
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