From my father I inherited the ability
to stand in a field and stare.
Look, look at that gray dot by the fence.
It's his donkey. My father doesn't have
a deep interest in donkeys, more a figurative one.
To know it's out there nuzzling the ground.
That’s how I feel about my life.
I like to skirt the edges. There it is in the field.
Feeding itself.
You can read the rest of the poem here.