A tree falls and collapses and folds us into the ground like a book binding bone.

You pull a splinter out of my finger. I defend you against marauders. We create a barrier of safety for a friend whose emotional equilibrium is threatened by her reality.

I give you a ride to the gas station when you run out of fuel. You give me a phone number that will get me out of trouble. We whisper about how much we love our friends.

I tell you the truth. You believe me.

About this photo: This is one of two photos the local print shop printed for me from a roll of film a while ago. I had to laugh because this is clearly a mistake, or was it?Maybe the printer knows something I don’t. Did they think this was art, for example? Are we friends?