The Gift of Friendship


We stayed on

elegant pathways

and mirror dawns.

We woke to gardens

brimming with roses

growing no thorns

and birds that sang

all of our favorite songs.


You were an imaginary friend;

better than I deserved.

Who dreamed you up,

I was never sure,

but I thought that you were

maybe a gift from my mother,

who loved gardens

and flowers

and never would have wanted me

to be alone.


We crept along

in stolid twilight,

neither giving,

nor taking.

Leaving every trace

of a shadow.

Bent light,

tricky for the eye to see.


In the darkness,

I couldn’t see you,

but you would sometimes appear

wearing moonlight

like a silver suit

and tell me stories

of the world

beyond the garden walls

and of the worlds

beyond the stars.


My mother was right

to give you to me.

I could have never

dreamed you up

on my own.

Your eyes

too unlike mine

for me to conjure.


As I grew up,

I saw you less and less,

but I know you were there

in shadow

and in moonlight

and the smile

behind every rose.



HG – 2021

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