I was once very lucky.

Maybe one day, I’ll be quite lucky again. 

The time in between is for me me to wonder how lucky I could be, and how fantastic it would be, and how fantastic it already was. The present loves putting itself betweeen parenthesis.

If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have to hide
beneath the bark of the trees waiting for your name to be carved

- Richard Jackson, from “Letter to Jo from Radovna Valley, Slovenia,” in Resonance (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2010)