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?