How We Were Happy

Watching the wound pass, play and pass,
is Tuesday, is the way an evening

can turn into something
like a birthday candle. No,

like a birthday candle
in an ordinary piece of cake.

Or maybe the cake itself
lit up by the candle.

This is how we were,
this is how we were happy.

All the perfect rhymes
then the additional

word, imperfecting
the perfect, letting the world,

those who are in it,
breath, blow out

candles. Forgiving, even,
the clever, the twice clever,

the habits we can't, won't
suppress. Oh our days

are ordinary and blind
and love is nothing short

of a little bread, a little wine.
What adds up, what stays

is maybe not the planned for miraculous.
Listen up, I am quietly singing

it says
in a hush.