MY FRIEND
My friend,
he's standing on the edge of a precipice,
but he doesn't falter,
those who claim he's faltering
don't know what faltering is,
it looks like faltering,
it even looks like falling,
like wanting to cling to something,
but it isn't,
it isn't shouting either
what he does,
nor recoiling, nor hesitating, nor looking back,
it's something new,
something different,
something no one else can do –
my friend,
his blue heaven,
his peregrine impatience,
his ash-grey, winter-clear immortality,
he doesn't falter.
