The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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They gouged the mountain for a power line.
Not much of a brown strip
compared to the whole green of it.
The trouble is, now when I look at that mountain,
the gouge is all I see,
like a beer can in a trout-fresh river.
Or like that spot of resentment in your eyes,
off to the corner of your love.