i flash my grandmother's smile

and say "i'll miss home-"

each crack in shared concrete

is an eye-corner wrinkle

well worn by people left behind

it'll be much greener than i remember

& i'll spend some solitary september

longing for pollen-springs turning over,

falling gentle at the speed of june

while i'm away, they'll stir:

so many somethings

hidden under their folds

poem 24.5.13