the innocent warmth of youth
washes over us
like a late morning sun
through the dusty blinds
of maturity

as real
as the hand-made quilt
embracing our bodies
they burst forth
in exuberant naïveté

another day
another reason
we mark the moment
we make the season

games of the mind
play gently
upon our loving hearts
rolling round and round
working worlds of woe
into tiny little balls

they drop
into the wellspring
of eternal hope
gathering gravitas
gleaming
with every breath
of every bird and bunny

funny

m(-_-)m