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.