Mining

Sometimes I wish to go elsewhere,
exit myself,
so that someone, most likely my better,
can free from dross
the truth of whatever most matters.

Still I rummage around
and further dredge the sediment of my youth;
pick out out any gems that appear instructive,
throw out what’s not,
so, generally, sort the stuff of my life;

in this way, test
the breadth and depth of my learning,
point out mistakes
and determine where perhaps I did better,
even though the stakes
are most certainly not in my favor;
so little time
and so very late in the mining.

Yet I prove my claim
by getting up in the morning.
I am not ashamed,
nor either am I full of pride.
This mine is the life I have lived,
not all tunnels mined.