You’ll do what you need to do,
As the possibility of happiness presents itself to you.
And what can you do about the possibility?
Nothing. Don’t think about asking me.
I have no idea. I’m just writing poetry.
The only thing I’ve got is making this poem end.
That’s what I’m doing, that’s where I’m going,
Hoping happiness is around the bend.
Happiness is never here. Or if it’s here, it’s flowing,
And everything is possible, and happiness always deferred,
And that’s why I’m moving to the next line, looking for the next word,
Which will change what I said before,
So it’s more confusing and unstable than I can say.
The poem arrives. Love arrives. And then they go away.