heavy northern autumn sky mist hung forestdark spruce bright maple and the great lake rolling forever to the narrow gray beach i look west along the red road of the frail sun to where it hovers between shelf of cloud and spiky trees receding shore the world is full of seasons of anguish of laughter and it comes to mind to write you this nothing is sure nothing is pure and no matter who we think we are everyone gets a chance to be nothing love s supposed to heal but it breaks my heart to feel the pain in your voice but you know it s all going somewhere and i would crush my heart and throw it in the street if i could pay for your choice isn t that what friends are for isn t that what friends are for we re the insect life of paradise crawl across leaf or among towering blades of grass glimpse only sometimes the amazing breadth of heaven you re as loved as you were before the strangeness swept through our bodies our houses our streets when we could speak without codes and light swirled around like wind blown petals our feet i ve been scraping little shavings off my ration of light and i formed it into a ball and each time i pack a bit more onto it and i make a bowl of my hands and i scoop it from its secret cache under a loose board in the floor and i blow across it and i send it to you against those moments when the darkness blows under your door isn t that what friends are for isn t that what friends are for isn t that what friends are for 