Can friendship have indemnity? Insurance you
can pay so it won’t end? What would it cost
to toss away whatever drains the source in it
that wantonly ignites and bites, expends delight?
Friendship rarely ends in enmity. Like any other
love, it is ridiculously inexplicable. It surely must
be feeding on some random manna from above,
below, somewhere, a here or there we’ll never
know. Love bestows, love suspends. You may
well find that it depends on saying you are sorry.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand its quarry:
what it’s really looking for, what more it wants
that it can’t say, or isn’t saying. Should we all be
praying? Would that bring back its bright surprise,
its lift? Is everything a fickle gift? Surely everything
is far more wonderful. How wonderful is wonderful?
Maybe fantasies of ecstasies are what turn off
the light. We’re all right. Are we all right?