And so it's like gravity--
even if you try to gently guide
a falling thing back up
towards the sky
it would simply ignore the instructions
and inevitably crash with the ground
and so it is, me crashing into you
because it is law
just as the rising sun
kisses the hills with golden light,
each morning just the same,
as if to say--you. you, I love.
each blade of grass, each rock and stone
each one is perfect
and so the sun, never withholding brightness, says it is.