isn't that what friends are for?

heavy northern autumn sky

mist-hung 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

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

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

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?