How much does joy weigh? Does it weigh
as heavy as despair, only different,
without pain? Does joy have negative weight,
letting the carrier walk a little lighter?

Does joy look like the thing in front of you–
a home-cooked meal, quiet secrets
with your beloved, a blooming jacaranda?

Or is it the transformation of the daily task
set before you—data entry, crusty dishes,
a sticky floor—from dread into delight?

What does it sound like coming from a mouth?
What classroom teaches its vocabulary,
the shape of its sounds on a tongue?

And what does joy feel like in a person?
How much space does it inhabit?
Does it bubble or burrow, glisten or shine?

And what does joy feel like in me—
and how will it change me?