to be bread for one another

holy, holy the small edifice
with its creaking floorboards

you left your half century of home,
a pilgrim questing for the true

landing at this truth
full with a riot of flowers

their bepetaled crowns
rising sunward all summer

you said we aren’t meant to be alone

now is equinox
and they descend to soil

to next season’s cacophony
and you seek solace

no longer just in the company of harvest, fallow,
then furrows with portent of could-be and not-yet

not just among old friends whose pluck
you let pull you north in the first place

but in the company of a woman
who is simply smitten with you

a woman who might be,
one day, bread to your bread


(cc) Karen G. Johnston