that good seed (final version!)

Hungry days and dry, when the bottle's empty.
Plodding 'cross the sky, oh, the slow sun lingers,
seems to prophesy the return of plenty.
Count on your fingers

days till winter ends, and the trees awaken.
Sober now, the sap in your skull is rising.
Slow your steps, look back at the roads you've taken.
Is it surprising

now, when all you've hoarded is drained and eaten--
now you've drowsed long months in your hibernation--
now what's left, when grief is at long last beaten?
Anticipation.

Mulish as your dad, you refused tomorrows.
Years he knew you had, and he had to lose them.
Schemes you toasted with him, his dreams you borrowed--
bitter to use them.

Fix your red-rimmed eyes on a new horizon.
Stir your aching thighs; run to meet the season.
Spring comes, brings new roads to perhaps grow wise on.
There is a reason

you live on. All winter you did not know it.
One was buried, dead to your beating heart's need.
What sustains you now, you will learn, you'll grow it--
sprung from that good seed.