The two friends lay a blanket onto the grass and onto the ground,
both earthen and cemented,
many a time over,
to talk about
Under a cherry tree, under an oak tree, under a gum tree,
in the shade of a macadamia grove by the side of the highway
on some farmer’s property,
under the stars and the alcoves of train stations,
and the rooftops of their family homes,
always it was the same blanket.
They invited others to share in the conversation too,
the homeless, the elderly, the lost, the wild,
children, and cicadas and the wind.
Person A: Love is… a feeling
Person B: Love is an action
Person A: Love has a mind of its own.
These informal meetings were attended to for years and years
with all the rigor of science
and all the openness of prayer.
Until one day in late spring, the two friends now dressed in grey
spent a day collecting driftwood in peaceful silence,
made a fire by the ocean and leaned in to kiss it.
Following the kisses came breath and the most loving of touch.
They let the warmth take them over
and breathed deeply together
until they were both ash.