WEBVTT

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He assumes that acreage
with some caution

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upon the death of his father.

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This is poem number seven.

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I read it, especially
for Michael Hogan.

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I'm ready now to
admit that I failed

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at everything, except perhaps
at one quick span of crisis.

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When I said yes
to my dying father

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and to his only
piece of acreage.

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Gifts are not easy to accept
not when they nudge you

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to the sudden wall
of your stubbornness.

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But at 30, I lay awake
alone dreaming growth.

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I had failed at everything.

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But when I touched the land
again and heard my father's

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voice, I saw, but one image.

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Not the ponderous pasture,
or the unpainted house,

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or even the rock,
but a single seed.

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I said, yes.

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