Like Any Other Love

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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