To Cut

To cut
does not necessarily
mean that I
with finality of intention
sever that which
we both longed for—
An affinity perhaps
for poetry that
mattered to
the everyday
The sundry facets
are revealed as
innocuous, inordinate, enigmatic
like worlds within
tufts of grassy earth
or the lines
and whorls of time-worn hands.
My comrade,
we may not bloom
like a field of amaranths
Likely our friendship
Suffers from
withering rot
Yet its tendrils
pulsate of
Lives lived and sometimes
lost in joys or of sadness
This cutting
may not be severe or
a distancing but heralds
beginnings
never the shutting of our doors