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Walking past city gardens locked within their fences,
I see my old friends—plants and buildings who once
reached out to me, now safe from those who would
defile them. Soaring spaces dreamed by architects,
living landscapes designed to bring our desert closer—
their arms outstretched through cold steel bars as if
clutching at the sky—now held like convicts in the
prisons of our failed imagination.
—Gene Twaronite
