The Lost Brother
The lost brother might have
drowned in the sea. For seven
days we stared out over gray
waves, listened to sea gulls
screech in angry wind. Sunlight
melted over water, our eyes
turned inward and we followed
a path curving up through juniper
and pine. We might have ridden
horses, we might have held each
others hands. After a while we
couldnt smell the ocean or even
speak its name. When darkness
fell we had new bodies, we were
lit from within. When the moon
rose out of black trees, we whistled
like crows, aimed our strong new
fingers at a doorway on her shining
brow. The lost brother, the one
whose face we thought
we knew, the one who spoke
a fiery language of tears, might
have been drowned in the sea.
He might have been swept up
in a whirlwind of dust and cloud.
We who have wings, we who have
kissed the silent brow of moon
will never know his burning touch again.
If you've any comments on this poem, Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear from you.