I’ve not much left
to offer –
no farm beyond the fence
golden trinkets
stashed beneath my bed
no aged
name to proffer
or treasure more than this
a hand to hold
a place to lay you
down

I’ve not the will
to suffer –
faith to see you
gone
twilight burned as
fate into the barn
no destiny to barter
give me yours
I’ll give you mine
breath to share
a place to lay you
down

. . .