if you are my friend you would always believe in what I say
we would bite from the same orange even if we know
that stones disappear and rivers remain
even if I read Heidegger and Kierkegaard and I dislike Confucius or Laozi
even if I value Hugo and Dostoyevsky and I am still outraged by Picasso
even if I cry without a word very softly and I want sometimes
to play another Nine Men’s Morris with beans or lentils
until night falls upon us and you will believe me again when I’ll tell you
about the black forest grown from too high dreams
and about the catacombs built by warrior ants

right now we stay together face to face at the round table
somewhere at Stonehenge
measuring the time necessary for light to run back and forth
between me and you
we both smile the same however much it hurts
because tears would divide us forever
like the sword separating Tristan and Isolde
same as all the others divided because they never betrayed
not even for the sake of their love