Friend
written by: Dan Brook
friend, I call you friend
because we feel
Kerouac & Cassady, Ginsberg & Ferlinghetti
I send you poetry, politics, dreams
you send me art, philosophy, theatrics
sometimes vice versa
even when our verse is a vice
you share Pollock, da Vinci, Octavio Paz
I return Twain, MLK, Arundhati Roy
we discuss Borges, Baldwin, Basho
that’s what friends do
we watch
Jung & Neruda dance the night away
with the Dalai Lama & Noam Chomsky
ecstatically twisting, reveling, revealing
in Florence, Buenos Aires, Kyoto
New York, Chiang Mai, San Francisco
sometimes joining them
in Oxford and Haifa and Varanasi
we and they often talk, talk
for weeks, months
without speaking, seeing each other
though still thinking, knowing
circling back when it’s time
we dream wild thoughts
go on mad adventures
write and read crazy poems
separately, together
responding to your newest sketches
of life in the barrio
I compose another haiku
in your exile
with new films, music, stories
you create more worlds
there’s no knowledge, only wisdom
there’s no sadness, only compassion
there’s no human, only being
the holiness of wisdom, compassion, being
I realize now
what, perhaps, you have long known
we live liminal lives
between colors, countries, cultures
between one beat & another
between rational & emotional
between thisness & thatness
with the Earth below
and the sky above
we share cosmic dust
in each of our trillions of cells
that is why
friend, I call you friend
