Sun flutes in a city bed where I let you grow. Like family our communion has no words, and like lovers you are the first I see when I open the day, and the last as I close at night. If I am awake to hear the rage and see you battle a storm, I reach to pluck and save you, but I stop my hand before I snap a stem. While you are alive you'll always be young. There is no malice between you and some rain when tomorrow there may be sun.