Richard
A chilly overcast day. One day
unfolds into the next. My brother
visits my dreams, one night folding
into the next. I think of his long bones,
the long bones of his fingers, shards
in the ashes. I think of his passion
for opera, the depth of his voice,
his mind folding one day intothe next. Sparrows calling from
the garden, scandal in the news,
mournful music on the radio. How
he loved Mozart, opera, Sondheim;
how his long legs loped through
the streets of Manhattan; how
that hole inside him could never
be filled; how he loomsin my dreams, tall and alive;
the inconsequence of our
conversation, the dead to the living,
the living to the dead, not noticing
how one folds into the other, folding
together, dream into dream, brother
into sister. How we light each other’s
smokes. How light we are, how thin.
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