One day, after I was dead, I saw my brother.
He was talking to a neighbour over the wall;
I called out to him, but he didn’t hear; in truth his hearing was poor.
My anxiety rose; I called louder and louder. I could not move,
I was watching him, scanning his profile; and knowing what I know so well,
knew that this was no mirage nor dream, and so, my anxiety quickened.
It is almost impossible to describe the stress: so close, so immediate;
the blood boiling in the veins of my temples. It would not have been so intense
but he was my brother, and had there been fire between him and I, I would have persevered.
But I could not break outside myself, could not come one decibel nearer, even with that heartbreak.