Happiness is that fading mortal light,
Before the closing eyelid edge of earth
Wipes sunset’s liquid fire-glow blank with night;
A golden hour of hazy, rose-pink blurs.
It rises through the tangled ivy sounds
of cloudy, crowded conversation’s maze,
as shifting, shapeless half-words, sense unfound;
Emerging marbled meanings slyly sway.
It drifts on fleeting, lucid-dreaming wings,
in floating, hair-thin, fragile focus planes,
A sand cascade of disappearing things
As bone-white reaching fingers stretch in vain.
It is remembered taste and shadows chased,
An almost, nearly, not quite, falling into place.