Happiness Maybe

A halfway thing, perched

Somewhere between joy

And satisfaction,

Neither as pure as

The one, nor as low

As the other, just

A finch caught between

The two, uncaged but

Still undecided

Whether to forage

In the grass or sing

From the roof, or what?

Happiness can be

Unhelpful that way.

A maniacal

Serenity was

Pynchon’s description

Of the writing of

Garcia Marquez.

Let’s say happiness

Fits that description,

Not near to escape

Velocity, as

Joy flies, but floating

Past satisfaction.