best friends

It is not enough that we were we
and young and rough but tender
Or that we climbed stones and fell
over fell down fell long wee hills.

Enough is the filth of pine tar on
our we hands on our wee shirts on
and on with youth and thin roads

Enough to grace with graceful footsteps
grace-full prayers and bruises on our
graceless bruises on our graceless knees

Oh, the cold spring, on Coldspring road
we were we and young and tough enough
tender still and rare, ready to cook
we fell and fell down and fell along wee hills

It is not enough that we were we,
we are old and broke and broken too
and roughly lost, but tender. The we
that climbed stones wiped young hands

on our wee shirts on and on with years
the thick roads grow and we grow too wee
to love grace and graceful, gracefully.

bruises on our bruises on our wee knees
become the rarest rare of memories. Oh,
Coldspring Road, you are not enough
though I am wee. Youth and grace and loss
on and on, i fall, i fall down and fall along
calamity.

02/13/2009