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.

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