FRIENDS
–Adam ZagajewskiMy friends wait for me,
ironic, smiling sadly.Where are the transparent palaces
we meant to build —their lips say,
their aging lips.Don’t worry, friends,
those splendid kitesstill soar in the autumn air,
still take usto the place where harvests begin,
to bright days —the place where scarred eyes
open.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash