Autobiography

The leaves greeted, and 
The grass stirred. 
Spring was in place, 
And my vision was blurred. 
What kept you in this city 
For coffee and poetry?

Like a foreign seed, 
You could not sprout the same 
Way they do, and those estranged lips 
Kept a different tongue. 
The airport weather reminded you daily
Of all the world this place couldn't 
Include, and how the people 
In your life had come 
And go.

Still, like those footprints 
Trees have left behind, 
You remained settled—
But I couldn't help but ask
Whether those dancing leaves
Are straining their sails
To escape.

Dale Chou
2002-03-24