Never Pray for Happiness

Here is the fog this morning that blankets all
then lifts— See? there are the boats, lanterns

on the pier, rooftops coming into view: proof
that given a chance, a change in weather,

some things come back— Or never really left.
That’s why the monk bows a blessing, and the beggar

whispers thanks or fuck you; even the light bulb
sputters, the filament cracks when the light goes out.

These things shouldn’t be difficult to notice; or
I like to think nothing’s ever forsaken for long.

 

In response to Via Negativa: How to Live.

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