when I think of happiness
I think of
fragile things
of an exquisite existence
in between the
closing and opening of
my eyelids that
can dissolve
or shatter
in slow motion
like
the bubble
blown from the
pale pink perfection
of a child’s lips
trembling in its ascent
an angelic
symphony
of opalescence
until that globe
caught by a wild
wisp of wind
bursts
and nothing
no shadow or shell
remains
to show it was ever
really
there
© 2018 R.B. Simon
First published in the April 2019 National Poetry Month Issue of The Green Light Literary Journal.
