All too familiar...
I have been here not too long ago.

I had dug my heels deep...
I had tasted the moist that hung stale.
Dreaded every next step,
knowing then as I know now...
That again I would fail.

This road well travelled...
Will draw much more,
if not the same.
But I own this endless stretch,
I'll embrace it with discomfort...
For here is the grave that bears my name.

Leaves mound like
wheat  in silos,

I’ve trees that need pruning,
weeds in the fence line

beg to be yanked, a coyote
caroused in the chicken

coop and slats should
be nailed over

the void; seventy degrees
is predicted today

and no work will
be done.