you will not be known
for the coins in your pocket
but by the fertility of your garden
planted watered and weeded,
sown by hands that know what it means
to plant seeds.

known for the labor of gathering tools
and brick and mortar
to repair weaknesses in walls
protecting you, your issue,
your garden.

you will be known
for the teaching of children.
small voices understanding
the silence found between
the pencil's tip and the page.
for seeing the vague gray smear,
erasure on paper,
as the beginning of beautiful questions.

for your care as learned and learner.
wishing to meet that which advances towards you,
inexhaustible, examined thoughtfully,
woven within you, as root through loam
undeniable.

known by the blood that you honor and create,
by who you stand with and before,
by the immense luxury of witnessing
growth most vital.

you will not be known
for the coins in your pocket.
coins are numbers likely to be deleted
for the forgiving of the coins,
but for a garden of good and perfect sleep,
as one who tended his delights and his children.

and knowing the forgiveness in their nature,
they will rise despite you,
because of you.