My happy is a sneaky state with the tendency to lie
Directly: You will feel like this tomorrow
Or by
Omission: Positive hindsight
My happy, I have found, doesn’t captain a galleon in a bottle
Or dwell in a smog cloud at the cherry tip of hand-rolled disappointment
Filling an empty room with cancerous nostalgia
It doesn’t have a neatly labeled treasure map like they make you think in school
You can’t earn it, buy it, sell it or even steal it
My happy doesn’t taste like nectar or dye my mouth blue
It isn’t linear or logical or convenient or fair
Sometimes I forget about it altogether
I hope it isn’t Haley’s comet with one chance and only that
I try not to talk about things I don’t understand
But this has been a recurring issue
So far my happy appears to burn at fourfiftyone
Mate for life, and yet
Forget its own face like a spinster in a house with broken mirrors
Elusive friend of mine, my happy and I
Have shared a wonderful affair though the rendezvous were scarce
I have learned to live without her and make meaning from her ghost
It is when every light on the surface dies that the stars and moon shine most