Walking on the muddy path, I try
to convince myself it would be easy
to be happy. I’m not hurt, my family is well,
and the sun is almost out. I tell myself,
look, look how the ice from last night’s storm
clings to the tips of the branches
and, as it melts, see how the whole world
seems to gather in a drop. But there is a snarl
deep within that is snagged in the thorns,
trapped in the ice, intent on locking itself
out of heaven. It scowls at the wind,
at the sound of the traffic, it grimaces
at the story of itself and retells the same
sad story. It is hours later I notice
how easy it is to fall in love with the world—
how it takes no effort, no convincing at all
to weep at the beauty of hundreds of people
singing together, oh the deep melting,
how the whole world gathers in a drop.