Friendship is like turtle eggs hatching beneath the sun-warmed sand
I keep a tight bed with hospital corners, munch blueberry scones with my tea.
My hoe rose and fell, loosening the hard March ground for a bed of lettuce leaves.
My back to the hearth, I watch you, boot deep in the early snow, grilling salmon in the darkened yard.
It's ahead, you know, warm, and dry, and safe
A lean-to appears in our woods.
chillin air like friendship waning mottled sunlight falling flaring leaves blackbirds covering oak’s spreading
Our voices gust with accusations until the storm abates. We crawl beneath our goose-warm quilt, face away in the dark without familiar rasps and exhalations. The morning a pale pink. We guard our space of silence.
White pines gather in a grove of three.
We strode MacDougal St in ’62 past the coffee shop where Charlie Chaplin played all day, where everyone was cool and we were new.
Awake in the cramped canvas tent she shivered through a stubborn night wavering towards dawn.
Sun in the valley lounged on our faces.
