From afar I have been
drifted, blown this way
like Sahara sand

rained down
on fertile soil
a grain of pollen

in the yellow border
around the puddle in the pothole
on this path

where you never go
and I walk to the café
every day

hoping for contact
in your language, but
only Jenny has time

to help shorten my
wait with hope
and sometimes someone

sits there, bored
drinking tea
next to me