I'm also writing in this new manuscript
a series of poems that I'm going to call,
I think, "Divertimenti," which is plural for divertimento.
[LAUGHTER]
Yeah.
And I-- [CHUCKLES]
--there's a wise guy over there.
Where was I, Michael?
You were laughing.
[CHUCKLES]
Because I'm thinking of them as light pieces, things
that are more on the entertaining, light side
of life, instead of all the dark, ponderous, brooding,
solemn, sodden, sullen, et cetera, kind of things.
So here is one of them, and it's called "Some Little Happiness."
"Some little happiness knows our names,
and where we live, and sets out to meet us halfway.
It arrives humming an enchantment of tones
we have never heard and don't want
to let go, because we know they will never be heard again.
Some little happiness lives in our eyes, in our skin,
leaves a trace in the lines around our tired mouths.
Some little happiness, we don't have to deserve it.
We don't have to expect it.
We don't even have to admit how much we need it.
And some little happiness will rest its hand on our hands,
will tell us, 'Take me.
I won't be here that long, and neither will you.'
'It's OK,' whispers some little happiness.
'Trust me,' and we do.
And then we pay hell for it."
[LAUGHTER]
No, I'm just kidding.
I'm just kidding.