A lot of things in my other poems creep into this book.
And I see them from different perspectives.
My grandfather had a tremendous.
My paternal grandfather had a tremendous influence on me.
And I think once a person has an influence.
The influence never decreases.
I'm not convinced that it doesn't increase.
There are dragons.
I call this poem A Prayer for My Grandfather.
But I changed it to fit the other titles in the book.
It was called Plowing the North Forney Ludi
Jr. on Earth the Remnants of his Paternal Grandfather.
Who lived on sourdough, and duck,
grub worms, and watermilfoil and the breasts of small birds.
Who lived day in, day out unaware
that he could not kiss the overgrowth in his own ear.
Who he did both himself and the Cyrus
in his wife with what the milk cows hourly walked away from.
Who wore both lobes to the bone listening
for the word of the Lord.
Who heard it?
Old man lie down.
Who stretched himself out in a furrow
pulling the dark, moist soil over him like a comfort.
Who without further comment is becoming something else.
The process, a kindness to him that these bones,
these bones, these dry white bones shall never walk again.