Come Find Me

Wrote you a nameless note, said I love you.
Is that enough
for you to come find me?
Perfumed it with the scent of freshly picked
weeds and stale tears. I'm hiding,
will you one day soon come and find me?
Never sent you the letter. It'd said I'm lonely.
Crossed out very and always. Crossed out I. Then
Tore it. Burned it. Spread the ashes. I feel—
Won't you come and find me?
Was always good at hide-and-seek.
Once I hid myself so well even
I gave up trying to find me.
Like a shadow that has lost the sun,
a dream with the dreamer dead, an echo, a memory,
a place gone and a time past, a swamp—
if you are a river, flow this way sometime, find
me.

Happiness

True happiness is shy.
You need to be gentle and soft,
sincere and kind,
because happiness can always tell
when people demand its presence
only for selfish pleasures,
and when they genuinely wish
to welcome happiness home,
and honor their dignified guest,
with care at home inside their heart.

Happiness is pure and simple,
requires only that you meet
its soft presence with yours.
Happiness will silently sit,
caress your arms that long
have held heaps of hurt within.
Happiness will sing,
perfume the glory of your being,
cool the treacherous loathing within
with every flap of each wing.

But only if you care enough
to invite happiness home.
So open your windows at night,
let this shy presence now glide in,
unseen by the glaring daylight.
Listen for the soothing sound
of it preening its feathers,
consistent as breathing,
or the calm regular beats
of peaceful open hearts.