I saw my brother

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.