it’s like your words send rain
that washes the earth
of all aches
and leaves it clean as a mirror
then the scented light emerges
wilted plants yet manage to grow again
and you’re all sleepy eyes & bashful
maybe because we're both transparent
& the sun’s staring right through us
instead of curling up in fear
you embrace the warmth of the invader
you’ve always been that way
which brings others to heavy merriment
but with a question of
how can one remain innocent by nature
that serves nothing to the art of cynicism