in moments. There is no happystasis.
I find that the happy moments happen
more frequently when looked for. I look
inside a piano. I look in a book. I think
I see it when my dog nuzzles my leg
to ask for a scratch behind his ears. The happy
is just under his fur coat. Happy does not come
in years. It cannot be wrapped in a box
named January. It is filed in a cabinet
between anger and anxiety. It only appears
through thoughtful searching. Use a flashlight
if you can. It likes to hide in dark places.
It must be coaxed into visibility,
never forced, or it will pop
delicate as a balloon.
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