Pieces of Joy
Nov 5 · 1 min read

It is not your friend,
on a branch
a small piece of ribbon hangs
There in the breeze
and then none at all
A hum of silence
piles of paper
and unread books
Joy comes in different mediums
your sense does not pause
you lay in the thick grass
watching tops of trees
It is not your friend,
questioning your own
patterns of incremental pieces
which you try to explain
before you a pool
a lake of placidity
Still, the sun sits
as you do
Again you wait
you wait to hear the breeze

