My dear friend (4/25)

My dear friend
I woke up this morning and the sky was stifling tears
I hoped it would cry for you
I knew you had planted a whole field yesterday
tucked your hopes and good humor into tired ground
so overworked that it blew away with a breath of the noon wind
If only the day would give you a chance to
grow something to show for your sweat
I was never born a farmer
but my callused fingertips recognize the loamy feeling
of the world keeping a secret under its skin
and the shy desire to discover it
I know how to mean well
and fuck it up anyway

     If only the sky would confess
     and the seeds grow

​The clock on the nightstand begged me to close my eyes
and lose myself in sleep
but is the day still night if you call it that?
Is a stranger still friend if you call it that?

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