panhandle scratch

Take joy where you can find it;
            Luck-seldom that’s in weird places,
    Wiley-eyed faces.
        Not the carnal kind;
  That isn’t where, first, my mind goes,
      Though I’m not absent that thirst.

  But happiness.

        Those
              little
            throws.

    The too-narrow kite that flies us—
Sky-blinds us ’til
  We’ve run out the play.
        I say look for it better:
    In the impermanent,
      Imperfect,
  Incomplete.
    It’s there, if by just one letter—
Aware of it more and more.
  Not many a door I’ve not been through,
        But there are a few more
                I fancy’ll open.
        Copin’s happy enough,
  When my look’s for stuff worth lookin’ for;
And hopin’s the handiest knob on a door.

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        https://windstrewn.com/2018/11/07/sagittarius-a/