Roots

I am dreaming of a house of stone.
A little chapel in my back yard -
Hand built. I'd stain the glass and
Paint the walls, lay the rock myself.

I long for this place the way
Other women long for children.
A byproduct of our existence
That means something, a purpose
That outlasts our wandering lives. 

I just want a place, God. Someday,
A yard. A house. A little stone chapel.
Roots along a rootless journey.
A settling place beside you, Lord.