eighteen miles
from where I first
 gave to love
a name –
I lay my burdens
down here
by the fence
wrapped in yellow flowers
a favored cotton gown
was painted up the same
as summer sense

pushed apart
by two and fro –
‘tween the rusty briar
of captive wheat
to wishing fell away
took a chance
on leaving –
of every place we wanted
to lay us down
(to find us lost)
this way

silver morning
slppers –
such a simple treasure
of questions meant
for this –
for answers known
wrapped in yellow sheeting
kept us here much longer
than harvest moons
to carry –
winter home

. . .