on an overcast morning
with a sharp wind,
I set off on my bicycle,
turning my face to the weather
I wait for the tears
to well and then to water
tracelines down my cheek.
though I recognise gratefully
this weepless state –
a life of enduring happiness
with sleepy rhythms and
forgiveable misdemeanors,
days with only the record skip of disappointment
and occasional jealousy –
some days
I miss the sob and the moan.
eleanor j jackson 