Your Friend

Your dear friend, and so clearly your friend,

spoke light, swift converse like

swallows' flight

soft and pointed, lay the words

"You love her."

I did well.

Backfoot pressed, I did not reel,

stayed vague, lied to neither of us

and did not resist.

Never resist. My friends to resist

is to cartwheel through no man's

and they will cut you down

with eyes and silence.

I did well.

Fell back, made light.

Ghosts of words who mill

as flocks or mobs,

trouble as your fear

of birds and people,

froze, preserved

to spare my evening...

and will thaw,

pour in and throughout

fall with the weight of the oceans' fingers

who rise and spread and rise and spread

then crack, dig and claw foundations

flush out roots to swallow your falling mass

or crash your outposts, any head or face

of rock you jutt against her swell

is weathered by parts over aeons

to the building grits

of glass and castles.

I did well, still,

damn your friend.