Joy

by Rebecca Lynn Prengel

Joy,

that subtle spirit,

in filmy flight

eludes

my desperate, clutching fist

when I, like naturalist with net,

pursue through this world’s darkling mist

a butterfly I cannot get.

But

when I smile to see the day

and sit still in the sun’s bright ray,

when I feel the sky is near

and make of life no great demand,

then Joy,

like the wary woodland deer,

steals to me softly

and eats from my hand.