in the garden of Danny Woo


I lead you up terraced slopes
until we see clear to Hing Hay Park

down Maynard Street, rattling
off the annals of Uncle Bob

how he leased the land
beneath our feet to feed

the elders, create
a thriving ecosystem where

there had only been neglect,
a plot of land covered in trash

& shattered glass restored to
life-giving beds of vegetables

through a shared belief in change,
fallen now into decay rain-soaked

winter leaves rotting underfoot,
the reports of sex trafficking

in massage parlors down the way
replete with unhappy endings,

you startle me from remoteness
when you pull me close, to quiet

speech, our tongues entwined in
some scattering of verdancy come alive