Lost On Sunday
A few hours ago
I awakened to a nearly extinguished morning and,
scowling at the prospect of another day, left
my bed to its thoughts to prepare for the barrage
of happiness that would fill my evening.
The world was determined
to extract me from the melancholy afternoon,
strewing unexpected pleasantries in my path
that I, unable to transfer the joy from my mind
to my heart,
simply took as coincidences bereft of forethought.
I rested a few moments in a silent location,
debating the sun's warmth
and reasoning with a chilly wind, asking myself
genuine questions; when two swallows,
hopping across the path I had taken, looked my way,
pretended to acknowledge my hurt, paired
off and flew away.