sit me tomorrow
in porcelain pieces
matching white cups
a fated charade
of sense to the seamless –
one more starting over
was spread to the table
in hand-me-down lace

tempt me a place
of living beside you
stained as the linens
were fell without blame
as yesterday’s prayers
unfolded to pardon –
and every transgression
committed to name

as light
bears the stillness –
of ribbons of wonder
– questions
we might not have known
to embrace
when held the night closer
and stirred from our slumber
were passions unfolded
the ways unto grace

porcelain patterns
to my kind of knowing –
matching white cups
my waiting erase

. . .