between the bricks and pine boughs
next to the swaying lamp
we are quiet friends
i suppose there are those
who suppose that they know
all that there is
to know
but they do not know
we are friends
between the sweeping church bells
next to the parking lot
we are limited
we are patched up and worn
we regret to inform
them this is all
there is
and they do not know
we are friends
between the gasps for fresh air
next to the gap of years
we are open now
i am sure that i speak
with a halt, and i seek
too much, no, all
that is
still they need not know
we are friends