Friends.

I am not sure who found who,
Or who applied the super glue,
But I know that I am glad it’s you, whos
spilled into my greens with your blues.
Like Northern Lights.
Shades of red, when we walk with the dead,
but the night remains, the same, our patchwork stars;
our awe inspiring playground, designed for need,
architecturally sound,
for those that know the ground
and how it moves beneath your feet.
How it shudders and breaks open,
not to swallow your efforts whole
but to hide your broken bones in the coal,
until the new grass grows
and the spirits show
the blue prints
to whoever found who
and applied the super glue.