Friendship is braiding in and out the strands
of all our histories. Across the years,
we weave together. Sometimes it appears
we hold each other closer than our hands
sometimes we go away and then come back
and pass each other somewhere in the sky.
Our jet trails cross. Recross. Somehow we try
and bring new friends not only to mend lack
where dead friends were, or those who went away,
but to fit all the ways that we have changed
ourselves. It's often neat as if arranged
the way it looks when on some special day
weddings or funerals, they stand and drink
our friends, never the strangers that they think.