I’m fond of writing ecstatic poems
but sometimes happy creeps in
instead of washing over
and the joy of calm of joy
(a circular logic, if there ever was one)
reaches deeper than fleeting euphoria
of endorphins, of warm bodies
of various sporting events
someday all will be right in the world
and we will know wild calm every moment
but until then we will marvel at the drops
the tiny parcels that arrive on our doorsteps
either balloons escaping or dry ice melting
(today, I hope, we are on the dry ice side)
both fleeting, we know it, but both oh so good.