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?
.
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