Joy Comes in the Morning

When joy returns,
anything seems possible.

Why can't it be like this
all the time?
Must joy be a fragile flower?
A minute, an hour, a day --
and then it's business as usual.

Or am I missing
the point?
Does joy flow like a river,
unending?
The mainspring of rejoicing,
the backbeat of sorrow?

Those who are in love
contemplate their beloved
heedless of chaos, pain or deprivation.
It is enough to be together.

If I could love God like that,
things might be different.
I might believe
eternal life starts here and now.

I wonder --
how does God see me?
Insignificant as I am,
is my photo in his wallet,
my latest poem on his fridge?