Our tears of joy are not because we are happy, but because we long for a happiness that has passed and we can no longer grasp. The child near the river, jumping at the sight of the lizard he's only seen in pictures, his squeals convulsive and involuntary, (and down, off to the left, the sun's sharp whiteness rebounds off the river) the lizard calm, the father's hand just there, just grazing his shoulder to say go ahead, reach, son reach, but to to say I'm here I'm here here if you need me son son as he reaches down son to new reality too too new real.
A joy I can't understand, a joy I can't hope to even remember, tears of joy.
And our long shadows stretch out before us.
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