Why

Who knows why
a sparrow sings
just before dawn?
If she had a message
it would not be music.
Who knows why
the snow-melt stream
meanders all
over the meadow,
taking the pathless
path of least
resistance, giving
birth to lupine,
purple aster,
Indian paint brush?
Why this smile
arises on your lips
for no reason?
Why this tear,
condensed from distances
between the nameless stars,
suddenly blurs the earth
with gratitude?
Don't tell.
It would not be music.
We must each learn
from our own heart
that happiness
has nothing to do
with being
sure.