Father, brother -ally

We learned as children
how to sow

without reaping. How
to keep vigil
for absence. Small door

ajar in the heart, stone
coop grown to
surround it. Sometimes
we will sit there,

slack feathered, weathered
notes folded
in a paper box, and
celebrate withering.

Loose limbs, crumpled
leaves, gravestones
worn to pebble. The only

clues to our history
are in the ways we
keep returning. Disappearance

is a tower. I am the dark
speck you can
no longer make out

from the high arrow-shaped
window. And

I will miss you
more for that.

Author's Note

2014