Friendship is religion

What is heard through the din of doubt?
cult of boxes is overturned.
the voice of a friend burns back the fog
Which seemed gentle at the start but actually hisses and singes before it departs.
It is the tear that burns and marks
at last
a return.
So here I speak with what I have
Friend your words remind me of something that still lives inside
and is glad. A light cuts through the deepest tomb of the self.
Now i am reminded and emerged. Thank you.

I am admitting how i tried so hard not to see
Not to lose a single thing
because losing something has damaged me.
But so does insisting on never having and never being had.
Hence my weird grief.

This is the heart of my journey and the journey of my heart
This is the dance
This is the edge I walk
The teeth of all my talk and the distance through which
I see the tree bearing its fruit

We can pick all the fruit on the tree and most of it overflows our arms to the ground
or we can take a bite of each round but never finish a single one.
I pick the fruit off the branch but toss it before tasting of its sweetness
and so I am missing the whole point.

I was a boy who used to collect souvenirs of every happy or felt moment
to remember that something so nearly impossible happened.
I was deluded! by the crime of my american childhood. Joy is not elusive.
Still this doesn't mean I understand the word happy. It feels inappropriate
and turn my back on it.

I cant stand to lose because I never had much
But somehow in that I have become rich and held
which caused light to be born into my eye
and eclipsed the dead child that just wouldn't die.

I need to be more careful or heart-wise.
We are circumstantial flowers of the desert..
Blooming spontaneously but with such precision.

I weep at my lost selves
the ones that fail to be honest or satisfied
I weep and say single file
Haunt me in a more organized way

I weep but smile
under what we're making
despite the world.
Your words pinch together a torn seam called
clarity to see what is there but unseen.