Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Second Person

Strange how deliquescent
friends can be: how softly ends
are reached: how once again across
the breach comes nothing.

Huffing up the hill from sleep
last night you dreamed you tried
to find your only sibling in your
childhood church, but couldn’t.

Your brother was a priest.
Episcopal. The idea’s inadmissible:
the least that he could do was live
a little longer. But he did not.

You’re not sure what to make of all
the melting faces you encounter
every day. No sooner do you
spot one than it seeps away.


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