the fine line

you were so small crossing the bridge
your hand hidden in mine, fingers close round
and the rickety bridge with missing boards
the little creek singing up from below

somehow the cave at the end of the trail
seemed so much larger and darker then
such adventures unexpected were born
that summer when you were only eight

the hope returns now in Sophia’s laughter
with the same smile and little hands
that hold the dreams of our fine lines
passed down from mother to child

like the stories we told and lullabies
soothing the wrinkled days we find hope
connecting us all to each other again for
in the dreams of tomorrow, she sleeps

– Previously Published