Happiness
is not a general thing.
It is not a state
it moves
and is digested
like salad leaves
off the plate.
Happiness
is not what is.
At rest it disappears
it is the eye of interest
a going there
a doing that
a mind that remakes all
an embracing even of that
which against us might just fall.
Happiness
is not a thing.
A car, a child that is mine
it is what can be
what might we always find
never looking behind
it is that fear unfounded
because the eye is up ahead.
Happiness a kind of compass
memory unbled.
Happiness
is what is alive.
That is each moment more
in interest
in possibility
how in thought
we can walk through
every door
pushed by the question
what is this life for?
