Happiness Comes | Rachel Barton

 WHAT YOU HAVE TO GET OVERwhat you have to get over is the color pinkthe way stink bugs clink against a glass doorthe nasal twang of the news commentatorhis comb-over his too red tiebut could you tell me whyyou keep putting the moon in your poemsalways on the rise and fullwhat tide or quirk of gravity allows youto tread water across the horizonapproaching one full moon after anothertethered to the page your poemshines like a bright orb floatingjust beyond my comprehensionlike a river at night her hairspills across her pillowfrom the pale moon of her faceblack silk on soft white cottona braided river across the plaindark waters a tangle of bramblesshe pulls it along into her dreamsreshaping landscapes with a tenderexhalation from her parted lipswhat you have to get over is the need to knowforecasts of turbulence histories of lossblue and jagged as the ragged height of musk thistlethe silvery sheen of moonlight on waterhair and lips and the sound of her breathin her sleep…the heartsong o