sigh of joy

These days, I feel joy swinging in luscious and scintillating drips

It runs and runs, pauses and then drops on me out of nowhere

I know when it happens because I can feel the sky inside me

I can hear the flutter of wings, the songs of children, and the sway of planets.

The stars join in a chorus of flashing lights

the flowers open up their lips and release their perfumes

the fish flutter out of water and in the air

trying to catch a scent, a sight, a sigh of joy.


12 thoughts on “sigh of joy

  1. You make all the world seem joyful or that the world is a place filled with endless potential for joy.

    I like how joy both “swings” and “drips” like it is both airborne (pollen) and then liquidy (honey). It’s almost as if this is the song of a bee. . . and the song of so much else. But I think when you follow the path of anyone, anything there is so much else.

    And “runs and runs” is very effective because I see the constant movement of a freshet of water but with internal ripples.

    What I’m trying to say is that this piece is living. What joy.

      • There’s nothing quite like being able to sit back and feel like you’ve done good work. That’s a great feeling. Some people build furniture, some people build poems.

  2. I want more. You write that children are singing—how? And the flower perfumes—how do they smell?

    And place: where are we? Or rather: where is the persona in the poem? Isn’t it much better to center the persona in some tangible geography: a meadow, a garden, or even a jail cell? You can flit about—to the river, to the stars, to the park where children are singing—but I think it is good to have your persona “grounded” somewhere, preferably in one place.

    As you can see, I’m in one of my peachy moods (I’m avoiding the adage: if you can’t say something good, don’t say anything).

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