15
I awoke the day that I was born and did not fear my death.
For I was young and just a year behind my son.
Weary though, I was, from building a new life for both.
My wife approached with coffee and a kiss.
There is a different sun above me now, burning gentler than the place that watched me die.
At times it lights to fire forever forests close and on me, but not the fossils that presaged it.
Even so the fire threatens; I must ignite a fire deeper still, if am to see my home.
In spite of what might befall my frame as I frame and claim my space,
I choose to build and plant my hopes on this hill and in its heart.
And I will stay forever young, always younger than my son.
That I may see him older while I the wilder then become.
For he is my witness I got my wish and evermore give thanks,
That when I should have been no more, he more than called me back.
I now can see one finish line and many more ahead.
For hope, that lying, useful dream will not surrender me.
It tells a truth that cannot prove itself or falsify
And makes this life one third the time I was till I was not.
So breaking ground is new ground broken and filling up the holes
With all the veins that this new life demands.
I share the labor and soon the joy of finally coming home.
For this long season he will remain the son one year older than I will yet become.
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