Regret ponders
Like Rodin’s thinker,

Holding a weight heavier than of Atlas
Letting sand slip up and down,
Weathering away like any rock
To a primal force of nature

And you are, the lesson
You learnt too late, the shadow
Of your collective fate,

To make something count,
In anterograde transport,
Just to nourish individual sources
Of a retrograde gathering,

Of what seeps through a little duct
To sneak up on you,

To make the involuntary,
A snapshot of mercurial defeat,

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