so he brings leaves to construction workers
at the park, holds them out like treasures
anyone would be glad to take. The world
has not been cruel to him yet, so he lifts his
blue-beaded wrist up to everyone we pass, asking,
“Do you like my bracelet?” and the only possible
answer is: yes. The world has yet to be cruel to him,
so he believes there are only two types of people—
good and bad—and the bad ones aren’t real.
The world has not been cruel to him, so when he
can’t sleep, we list out all the people who love him
and when we run out of names, he tells me that
the trees love him. Saturn loves him. The sky loves him too.
And when he falls asleep on my shoulder,
I thank the world for staying soft for him.
For giving us a little longer.
For not being cruel to him
just yet.