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Happiness is the soft undertone

of a train’s vibrato materializing

into my alarm clock without permission.

Branches swing to the whistling wind as

my ceiling becomes center stage for the shadows.

Chaotic, convoluted, carefree, a canopy of

memories reveal themselves as woven quilt,

made to keep me warm.

I am an audience member.

Purposeful performance delivers serenity to my soul.

Happiness is the silence, brilliantly scripted

into stories shared around the iridescent glow

of campfire within our fenced in backyard.

Laughter churns like butter: soft, sweet, delicate.

I watch as familiar faces become still shots,

photographs that line my walls,

narrating stories I get to call my own.

Accompanied by stars, faint silhouettes guide the planes

above looming creatures and muffled tunes, swaying

with speckled grass, a blanket for my toes.

Happiness is the tranquility of Island Park.

Reflective waters paint clouds across my face.

I see beauty in stillness.

Keeping it rooted inside, a veil of separation

vanishes into this place I forever call mine.

A wooden bridge built of stories,

intertwines with each step I take.

The outside world is projected through transparent angles,

accelerated, colossal, a masterpiece in disguise.

Consumed by wonder, heart at ease, I’m home.