What is happy?
Is happy not miserable?
“In Elysium,” he says, “perhaps we meet again.”
I want you now chokes my heart
Life is short drums my mind
Elysium is an illusion asserts my soul
Emily marvels at what the soul can endure, and Rumi says there is a field--—
I’ll meet you there,
and we’ll lie down together in that grass.
Hush love, and listen to me.
There is no after…there is only now.
In these the illusion withers,
and only the field remains.