by Chris Forhan

It seized me—never mind the circumstance: sudden
scent in the breeze like cinnamon, sun silvering
a roof as the unicycle parade began—it seized me
as sickness does, wholly, with no mercy,
all of my body obeisant to its law as though none of it
were mine, finally: not the joy or the body.

SOURCE: ”Joy” appears in the Silver Birch Press release Ransack and Dance, a collection of poems by Chris Forhan, available at