We need some pines to assuage the darkness
when it blankets the mind，
we need a silvery stream that banks as smoothly
as a plane's wing， and a worn bed of
needles to pad the rumble that fills the mind，
and a blur or two of a wild thing
that sees and is not seen. We need these things
between appointments， after work，
and， if we keep them， then someone someday，
lying down after a walk
and supper， with the fire hole wet down，
the whole night sky set at a particular
time， without numbers or hours， will cause
a little sound of thanks——a zipper or a snap——
to close round the moment and the thought
of whatever good we did.