well, i’d be luckier than leon. i’d not remember
those thick stormclouds, or the lightning that
bloomed, but my brother
would have seen it all, & we’d talk,
bright-lit under a shell-pink august moon.
i would listen. i’d drive in circles, make sure
he missed each later flight. i would ask for
proof of rest. ask he forgive the world
its tenderness.
we’d watch the sky, then we’d be quiet.
i’d point at stars above his head. each time
i saw his eyes dip down, i would
insist he look again.
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