I sit in a place of concrete corners
Of spilling sunlight brimming poignantly
As the leaves go about swimming
On etchings of passing neighboring ghosts

The air cool to my cheek
And the sky baby blue in yawn
I sit in a place of concrete corners
Surrounded by elements my mother brought upon

See the nurture of her hands
The dew drops which bead the petals
The butterflies which flutter upon sunlight demand
And the soil which seeps in beckon to bite of metal  

Lonely I sit, surrounded by granite shavings
And a wandering mind which refuses to sink
I twist my fingers saturated with craving
For the nurture of her words and love without despite