My dad used to say it’s a long road
that has no turning

some nights I dream I am still
in a dark city
hunting for a job or a squat
in a dark building
where floors with rotting timbers
invite me to fall into depths
of dead darkness
 
once sitting in a park I heard kids shouting
with budding summer joy
and thought when I am about to die
I would come to a place like this
where I could hear the voices
of new humans
who never guess when they sing and call
who sings and calls with them
 
as I never guessed I would end up
working around my sister poet
in a house where small ones come
to sometimes wonder at and tangle
the white moss on my chin
 
no poet or prophet has ever known
more potent angels of light and hope
than these I meet every day