what ifyou were to let goof all the frayed notionsof what happinessmight look like?see—here is a wide, open dayalready broken into piecessmall enoughto fit into your waiting hands.here is your breathstill thrumming faithfullyagainst the pink walls of your chest.you might want morethan you have been given.perhapsgrass under your bare feet.a clay pot of earthto call…