Sunny Day

When things are good, it's harder to write.
Hesitant to examine it for fear of withering, you try
To be present and not to think, then
To control the thought that maybe
Someone is gradually removing,
In whatever tiny increments,
The air from the room you are
Smiling in.

Questions

But can you write joy? Can you welcome it, invite it in, live with it from one day to the next without locking the door? Can you let joy be what it is without twisting, crushing, or fretting it into something else?

I would like