Sometimes good things happen

Sometimes good things happen
where you least expect them, like when you mix reheated leftover buckwheat groats
with peanut butter—because that’s all you had in the fridge—and discover
that not only is it edible, but it’s actually delicious; or when you read an essay by Mark Twain
with no particular expectations only to notice with amusement that it’s dated
to the early 1990s; or when you open the curtains and pause for a moment, mesmerised
by the dance of light and shadow on the wall of your study, caused by the sunlight
reflecting off the windows of the ramshackle across the street.

Sometimes good things happen
as the trinkets of the day.

All the trinkets of my day

I like that brief pause at the dust jacket flaps
before the serpentine sentences call me
to follow their long stretches and sub-clauses
introduced with all the althoughs, therefores,
and whiles pulled out of the conjunction hat.
I like the cat’s morning yoga for atheist classes
before the obligatory glass of milk-and-water bliss.
I like a furtive one last sniff of the night’s remnants
hidden in my pyjamas before I wrap myself
in the armour of an everyday suit.
And there are a few other trinkets like that,
but the point is, if there is a silver lining to life,
these would be the closest.