He lived — childhood summers
thru bare feet
then years of money’ s lack
and heat
beside the river — out of flood
came his wood, dog,
woman, lost her, daughter —
prologue
to planting trees. He buried carp
beneath the rose
where grass-still
the marsh rail goes.
To bankers on high land
he opened his wine tank.
He wished his only daughter
to work in the bank
but he’ d given her a source
to sustain her —
a weedy speech,
a marshy retainer.