it matters not

what i want,

or how i choose

to live,

where i place

my sodden boots

or when and what

to give..

it’s merely

a swift crossing wind

that blows our lives

each way

beyond which point

of seasoned doubt

we stand alone

and pray..

to whom or with

we might believe

and in what state

we stand

and if we’re lucky

we might have

a hand tucked tight

in hand.