Para/Poem Challenge "Open"

In the prefigurative foreground
When the world is still a novelty
Barely seen for all the possibility
When happy endings aren't a contrivance
But just the way it's supposed to be
Even for the baby cynics
Who secretly believe
What they cannot bring themselves to say,
The fresh breeze has its own indubitability.
It plays collegial games figuratively
As if you, in your human form,
Could almost be its equal
And brings neither the bite of the storm
Nor the smell of decay.