He adored skating on that small river as a boy.
And he loved talking. Good talking amounts
To “never saying what the other wants
To hear” — like dark green leaves, receding,
Or shining. A victory, friend, an amazing
Thing. You offered to take your cousin to Boston
With you, but it seemed to him absurd
To go to a town where he didn’t know anybody.
Your father, a doctor, once talked all night
To his patient. That’s like you. Why shouldn’t we
Be stubborn? Why not raise chickens in town?
Rocks, Dark Brahmas, Rhode Island Reds?
Holding to what one loves-a triumph of faithfulness.
Reading Robert Creeley’s Autobiography
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