The Way I Begin To Miss Home From Boston Poem by RIC BASTASA

what you have
are buildings, tall ones,
and i keep on walking
lost in those streets
with new names,
and outmoded maps,
and what i have are
anxieties, trying to find
a way towards a
public garden where
i can sit on a chair
watch the squirrels
and feed them and
feel relaxed for a moment,
and i begin to miss home
where beaches abound
where horizons are here and
there
where trees are tall and
leaves lush and
there even in the fall
of those
dead leaves
so much music
still abound