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We mistake those flashing crowds
before the Mona Lisa. Not I am here
but I was there.








Two paintings: cherry blossoms,
bamboo. Purchased ten years apart
from a man in Stanley Park. Each
original, identical
to the previous, the next.





O., my Tokyo pen pal, replied
in typographically perfect
handwriting, that gardens in Kyoto
were less plentiful than I imagined,
but that I should go anyway.





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