What is happiness I ask myself
lying lightly minded on a blanket during mid summer
as the radio’s playing my favorite record at maximum volume
at the time I recover?
Or maybe waking up blessed with everlasting verve which I’m still seeking
in the winter
world.

Is that called happiness?

Is one coloristically consistent painting capturing crashing waves
enough for one complete organized day?
I wonder too often and it expands my vintage wooden bridges to further lands
not malevolent but requiring to be understood fully to traverse through
lands green not Valle De La Luna
mind happy now everything is clear as a teardrop sent by a semi-angelic creature
this is happiness I’m assuming.

But is that really happiness I can’t stop asking myself
Or a temporary thing which occurs due to deep blue
surface auroras
laid in patterns strawberry scented and gleaming in the deep
of the five star hotel swimming pools
strawberry lingerie parties moonbathing too
laid like lit by warm lanterns brick avenues
beauty I can’t resist
or catch otherwise withstand.

Somehow I can fully describe it with the smallest details included
I don’t have a bijou bungalow located by the Rodeo Drive
I don’t have a girl whose waving mind could synchronize with mine
but I have happiness or something like that.