For an Old Friend

i know being strong matters
when you laugh at yourself
saying what men say on TV
and women do the things
that women do

on your own now building rooms
your parent's strong floors
more like firm elastic rubber
than anything completely solid

saying other words than TV words
a weakness like thick walls
supporting this house's weight
exposed to the corrosive elements
of wind, earth and sun

i remember when you first emerged
before you chose the land to own
for your own soon erected edifice -
you came to me and said
i'm frightened

something i did not know then:
only i was in the fields, rolling
long mounds of wind-blown grass
as far as my eyes could see,
and flowers, bees, clouds
the night of a billion distant lights

you were in the forest's dark
thick columns like a maze
untamed life invisibly wriggiling
intricate ferns while nearly all
trees and directions looked the same

i may have failed you
constrained by blinding optimism
returning nothing but a hello my friend
for such a heart-felt gift
no, i know i failed you

i see the strong with their chests puffed out
purposefully moving from struggle to struggle
while the road inside continues with little
street signs popping up suddenly, startling
with fear and retreat to the puffed up paths
they continue forever on, moving so solidly...

i spoke of absolution earlier - this is mine:
despite everything that is
or vastness has become
you, just simply you
(nothing else)
are far more
than i could ever know

and this shattering
terrifies me