Potion Seller

You topple yourself,

tumbling crystal

for the sake of making me smile.

Forgetting—but for a while—

is decent medicine.

You make a fool of yourself

and drink to my health,

throwing petals

so I neglect to let the nettles in

when they call.

"I shouldn't do this."

(you sing it and sigh)

"Fake wisdom decays so quickly,"

but I cling to your jokes

like leaves threaded through spokes

of white bicycles

through a garden so sickly.

You revive me

for a little,

though the season will end

—in sinister sadness I am rooted

so deeply,

but your patches of light

bring me fair weather, friend.

How I treasure them

and you

so sweetly,

so

completely.