Sestina

What's an ineffable feeling,
Since it can never be in a poem;
What's concrete in happiness
With an ever-changing I
Is temporary; identify
With a question. Who can answer?

I wonder if there can be an answer
To sculpt the phenomena of feeling
From a doubt to what we identify.
The fellowship of an errant poem,
The spirit of its making, and I
Quest to define happiness.

There was a horse named Happiness.
I suppose that's the only answer
One's arms could fit around, but I
Can't shake into that vibing feeling
That conjures joy in an evening's poem,
Needing no land to identify.

If only I could identify
Trees better, then happiness
Could form a chain of songs, a poem
That could operate as answer
Aroused to existence by a vagrant feeling;
Ever insularly I.

My little spies that hide in, I
Struggle here to identify
Whether as art or blood, a feeling
Stripped of senses, have happiness
As their doorman's secret answer
When he recites his half of the poem.

As the structure, or lack thereof, in a poem,
Life is freely constrained by I-
Attachments, -desires, an I-dealt answer
Of an other to identify.
My self-contentment-happiness
Ponders the mirror's estranged feeling.

Feeling my way inside a poem,
The happiness in crying I
Identify as some kind of answer.