Soul Friend

They say each tree grows in its own shadow
But we are strange trees you and me
For I am entwined to you stem and roots;
Someone passing by
Would swear we are one tree
and lose that bet
But my bark is rough and yours smooth
Your leaves are the shape of the heart
and mine the shape of an arrow head

all striving for light

Counting Sticks

I have come with my counting sticks

Pebbles and bottle tops

Instruct me soul friend

On the ways of loving

The arithmetic of grace

*

The friend throws away the sticks

Leaves the pebbles aside in a pile

He opens his chest buttons

And lets me count the stab wound scars

All pointing to his still beating heart