artichokes
no rain in the summer
1968 high --
yet the moon was the same
never rabbits pounding rice cakes

my third day in New York
the street language was Spanish
I didn't know
-- bitter taste of
raw broccoli

when I left home
my mind was well trained
my senses were ignorant --
how sweet to discover
the ripe pulp of persimmon

proudly, I sang
my first English song
snip, snip . . .
Grandfather kept trimming
his bonsai trees

I can't plant
all the seeds I want to
in my small garden . . .
what do you let grow
now that the soil is yours?

I pined for
ears that distinguish
Ls and Rs, but you
showed me how to
waltz barefoot