How often in the name of stability
we have insisted on sadness?
Good G.K.C. - my friend and saint -
wrote well about this state, wherein
the plod of solemnity and weight
is absolutely easy to maintain
precisely for the reason it is
a forced incapacity, a mono-chord
that leaves out the effortless lightness
of our being's contingency.
It is difficulty sealed, rounded
back on itself. But one only breaks
into a smile, into a new vista,
into a skyward sprawling tree
splitting the husk of the seed.
You know, I do not think my Uncle Chestnut
was as fat as he pretended to be.