Joy punches the walls of our heart,
pulls at our lips, curls our toes.

She looks out from a mirror
where she doesn't live,

from a house of mirrors,
from the back of a spoon.

Daylight is her lounge chair
and the sun (smiling down

from the sky) her glass of Chablis.
No shadows can erase her,

confound her, dismay her.
She is the ever-faithful hope

in hopelessness, always flirting
with someone else.

05/21/2007

Posted on 05/21/2007
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