I thought if I made myself small enough
I could fit inside the box labeled happiness,
and I folded my dreams into neat little squares
and kept them on a shelf labeled later.
But life leaks.
Happiness knows no box.
And who is this woman unfolding the dreams,
wrapping them into blue turbans, green capes,
and magic carpets of every hue flying out of the box.
Where is she going?
Dang, she looks familiar.