swept by the wind across my patio
I pick them up by hand one by one
along with a blue feather and a few sticks
how could there have been so many
and carry them to the compost heap
where leaves vary in a way friends do not
disappoint me though I have them
in looking back one sees our mountain
ranges of ignorance and pain
sprinkled with valleys of sunlit rain
eventually you come to another ruin
that was our first trip overseas
but friends don’t last like temples
though one had the heart of a pantheon
and another the stature of a god
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