our friendship is worth more now
that I don’t know anything with my eyes closed
or without a rationalization
the trees of my home are coming down too fast
showing the baldness of my unknowing.
but I know you—
the way I know climate of my own blood
the texture of my own love breathing
I remember how much I love you
the way you remember the shape of your own name
it’s precious, you see that now,
to know something with your eyes closed
without the luggage of language or our beehive mind
inside is its knowledge a working heart.
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