How these newcomers must see us
on this first warmish day
when daffodils hold their own
and winter hangs around
at the cusp of memory.
In the street, we’re talking
about parking arrangements,
box-shifting, the bollards
put out for a moving in,
a jazz gig in another country.
As the recently eclipsed sun
goes down, I can hear myself
reiterating the words of welcome
in a cacophony of languages.
