about my mother, and the hornbeam trees
underneath this
there is a passage
loose, rocky soil,
ideal for aloe, that unlikely balm,
except for climate.
What I see here, instead,
are mostly weeds I can’t identify
and too much brick
cement steps
a “yard” made of gravel
a man diligently tending the next
concrete plot
over there
and this one I sit in
a stranger
neglected
just a bit.
Hart St. Brooklyn, NY
Mar I Terra 
This evokes feelings of longing and a little sadness in me. I like it.