You have to be lucky
to have the night at your feet,
the wind in its cave and nearby,
an old cat dreaming of sardines.
You have to be lucky to be so quiet,
to empty your ear of the gossip
and chatter, to hear a river
hum in the distance.

There is so much to be done
before another day can be welcomed,
so many welds to be tested
and wounds to be dressed.
You have to be lucky to know
which piece of the moon still
shines on you, which angels
haven’t jumped ship yet.