Isn't That What Friends Are For

Heavy northern autumn sky

mist on forest

dark spruce, bright maple

and the great lake rolling forever

to the narrow gray beach



I look west along the red road of the frail sun

to where it hovers between shelf of cloud

and spiky trees, receding shore



The world is full of seasons

of anguish, of laughter

and it comes to mind to write you this



Nothing is sure

nothing is pure

and no matter who we think we are

everyone gets his chance to be

nothing



Love's supposed to heal

but it breaks my heart

to feel the pain in your voice

but you know

it's all going somewhere

and I would crush my heart

and throw it in the street

if I could pay for your choice



Isn't that what friends are for?

Isn't that what friends are for?



We're the insect life of paradise

crawl across leaf or among

towering blades of grass

glimpse only sometimes the amazing

breadth of heaven



You're as loved as you were

before the strangeness swept through

our bodies, our houses, our streets

when we could speak without codes

and light swirled around like

wind-blown petals at our feet



I've been scraping little shavings

off my ration of light

and I've formed it into a ball

and each time I pack a bit more onto it

and I make a bowl of my hands and

I scoop it from its secret cache

under a loose board in the floor

and I blow across it and I send it to you

against those moments when the darkness

blows under your door



Isn't that what friends are for?

Isn't that what friends are for?

Isn't that what friends are for?