From Grand Tour, which was published in September by Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

I offer a friend’s young daughter a leaf
of mint just picked, inviting her to smell,
when the past alights

and that other garden run amok
encloses. I am
overgrown.

Crush of mint
under the heel of a little girl
enjoying her small but definite powers.

Rain last night, caught in a black bowl.
Inside, a face flickers. Whose?
Espejo, my friend instructs. Espejo de agua.

I water the mint
though it galls, this encouragement
of any future.

Now the girl names all the plants she knows.

Now the wind sweeps away the debris.

Now she asks, ¿Qué has visto?