fortunes more
than e’er I knew
or lines caressed my fingers
when sat inside
a candleglow –
as someone spelled
my name

aloud
was fate returning
as whispers – sinner – saint
as morning when the night
is settled ’round

and I with want
for more than this –
more than matching dishes
and acres
where the wheat
resolved to grow

hand-me-downs
and day old bread
who will miss me sunday
when down the pew
the plates are passed
again

smiling back
in buttoned lace –
boots I should have traded
but kept apart
were pieces
of their worth

give me grain
to grow the sun
wrap your arms around me
spin me neath the willow
supper time

drive me back
o’er dusted roads
and sing the ones familiar –
of destinies I swore
were never done

hold against your beating
the hand to fit
your hand –
scored by fate
as fortune
you’ve become

…