The immigrants have mostly gone
to far more prosperous addresses
or the hillside aisles
of their eternal rest,
their places marked
by masonry in marble
or stark granite slabs
bearing pious
Orthodox inscriptions.
The trees remain,
at least for now,
reminders of who
planted them
in narrow lanes
and courtyards dense
with lemon,
pomegranate,
jasmine;
cypress tall as archangels
camouflaged dark emerald;
Athena's frothy olives,
pewter hidden in their foliage.
The immigrants have gone
elsewhere;
their trees remember
who they were...