What Makes me Smile
What makes me smile?—For one: the grin of life;
but, too, its touch of giggle grazing on
my ticklish skin,—Though soon again withdrawn,
yet long lingers in memory, full, rife.
This makes me smile—(the laughter of a leaf
fluttering through the airs of yawning dawn.
I think it now, though next I’ll find it gone,
but note the chimes of mirth and bells of grief.)!
But, most of all, the experience of love
—of that of other, self, or all of all,
precedes, exceeds, (impedes?,) towers above
every other need…—Question marks abound,
and, gently litling to a waltzing bawl,
re(sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound))))))))).
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