Joy will rise.
Trample on it, beat it down, it will live.
Joy is sunlight, it’s rain,
it’s life blazing up to the sky in vines and white flowers, it’s mud that shields the root, it’s wind breathing.
Do your worst—
joy will rise,
not to torment you, but because it must. It doesn’t know what else to do.
Birds open their throats and song pours out.
Joy will defy your gravity, always.
My life is a beautiful tangle of
dahlias. Yet how difficult to accept
what despair or delight
is offered on any given day.
I always want what is not offered,
yet what is offered could be blessed:
only missing my acceptance.
What I wanted on this day?
to awaken and watch him
sleeping, all-gathered, not mine.
Instead, these dahlias:
their unraveling warmth,
their beautiful tangle.