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.