Lucky

Playing a little 

mahjong and

waiting for a poem

on my last night 

at fifty.

Feeling lucky

to be heading down

the backside

of a century.

Willa and Jenny 

are upstairs 

and sound 

asleep with the 

northern winds 

riding across 

the roof of the house.

Born in the middle

of the last century

my heart feels like

an empty cabin

surrounded by trees

the roof caving in

allowing passage

for rain and the moon

for wild storms 

and drifts of snow

the slow weave 

of her sun 

filtered through 

the leaves

and now 

here's a sapling 

pushing up 

through the floor.

.