Lost: Part III

Like a braid weaving in and out of strands of hair.
Each one a borne follicle of DNA that advises how to proceed.


Hair - blonde
brown
blue
white...silver -

The color of hair can indicate the life of the person who bears it.
And can indicate the life of friendship relative to that person.

Or it could be genes.

Like braids of hair, friendships swerve in and out.
They weave,
heave,
grow,
retract.

Dry up.

Sometimes, they are revived years later.
After the death of your mother
or your cat.

Rivers braid themselves this way.
Fostering life from the moving current.
Cultivating life underneath.
From the shore,
the stream looks calm,
or perhaps the current,
obvious.

Underneath, there is another current that could sweep you away.

Friendships
like meeting a person for the first time
and knowing somewhere,
you've met before,
although they come from Mars
and you're sure you've never met anyone from Mars.

But you know, your lives are entwined -
somehow.

And then, the friendships that go away
leaving a hole
maybe scarred,
maybe charred,
maybe void of nothing.

The friendships that remains are consistent
as consistent as the river moving,
interweaving.