Even against prevailing winds,

the pattern persists—Happiness

is a myth. Too troubled to

untangle this moment from

the last, I am trapped in

a quandary of happenstance,

an Irish know woven from briar.

Unlike Lao Tzu by a pond, I hesitate

allowing decisions to pass undecided.

I don’t wait for the wind to fall,

or the murk to settle into clarity.

(February 8, 2019)