Saturday

That strange, sudden happiness that finds you,

and not the other way around.

Having nothing to do with miracles,

or being in love,

or being drunk,

and everything to do with the absence of these.

A huge, heaping bowl of popcorn.

A fruitless search for a cemetery.

Monochrome movies, comedy and crime.

Art from friends’ fingers and minds.

And you know, you know,

(Because your arms

and legs tell you so)

that tonight you will sleep deeply.

When the world is broken still,

but the cracks are starting to fill.

And you know that all will be made well

will be made well, will be made well,

will be well.

And,

always,

ever,

music and friends.

And

possibly,

necessarily,

God.

I feel it now.