Take them, they’re yours

My words, cast on the wind
to travel where they will
without map or GPS, these
tender mercies given to me
translated to hopeful wordplay

Knowing how often they lack
but what they do not have in substance
they make up for in spirit
my little ones with bright eyes
that want to reach you

If you steal my verses
my words, like my children
from my soul, a deep place–
aweak place–sometimes a strong place–
they could touch you too

So this is me, a vagabond
in this world, still unable
to put a label upon myself
giving you the one thing I have
like fingerprints

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