Arms and Legs of Joy

Happiness is a flashbulb—

a ring on your finger,

a role you book,

a dinner with friends that dissolves

when the table is cleared.

It glitters, it fades.

By morning, the applause is gone

and you are left with your own silence.

Joy is not that.

Joy has arms,

it holds you through the night.

It has legs,

it follows you home.

It grows taller each time you name it,

warmer each time you let it breathe.

Happiness is moment.

Joy is marrow.

Happiness can break.

Joy becomes you.

It is the essence—

not borrowed, not fleeting—

but the fullness that stays,

even when you are alone.