as i am lying under black March skies
and a noisy roof and heavy rain pouring down in the night,
he is out there, bowing down,
to those in pain and need of help of sorts.
he’ll be there all night, wide awake for even those
who sometimes are just so impolite to others, shamelessly,
out there in the streets.
and at the break of dawn, as he returns, for breakfast and sleep,
i’ll be on a train down south into the mountains
for that Saturday migration conference
in a tiny town
with full-timers and volunteers and newcomers and guests,
discussing how we can share privilege in our communities
for a healthy, happy living for all.
and later i’ll return and he’ll depart again
and all will be in balance
for the both of us
if we manage to squeeze in a kiss.
and here it starts again, the downpour.
my call to restore.