I Have A Friend

I have a friend.

We talk little of war or work or worries about the weather.

We put together pieces of an ill-defined puzzle whose color
has faded over time, its edges frayed so that there is no
longer a snug fit.

We create a curious collage of recollections randomly pasted,
overlapping each other, perfectly askew, remarkably revealing.

Or, somedays a mural decorated with hopeful dreams
and regrettable nightmares, a mural that has no particular
beginning and no discernible end.

We write music, lyrics and melody, that no one will sing, songs
that have no meaning except in the composing, no billboard hits,
more like heart beats set in the same musical key.

We create scrapbooks of moments buried in deep memory, some
probably better left alone, some dripping in the juices of joy
and exhilaration.

We laugh at each other’s silliness, weep without provocation or
penalty, sit silently at times completely satisfied with presence
more than words.

We are neither ashamed nor embarrassed to embrace in the
meeting or in the leaving.

I say to myself each time we head our different directions:
“I am a very lucky person.”

I have a friend.