I lead you up terraced slopes
until we see clear to Hing Hay Parkdown Maynard Street, rattling
off the annals of Uncle Bobhow he leased the land
beneath our feet to feedthe elders, create
a thriving ecosystem wherethere had only been neglect,
a plot of land covered in trash& shattered glass restored to
life-giving beds of vegetablesthrough a shared belief in change,
fallen now into decay rain-soakedwinter leaves rotting underfoot,
the reports of sex traffickingin massage parlors down the way
replete with unhappy endings,you startle me from remoteness
when you pull me close, to quietspeech, our tongues entwined in
some scattering of verdancy come alive