your eyes are thin in fog and
dark in deep dew morning
wincing, they glow and penetrate
a sliver of grass and
the hope for more of it
i catch a young smile and
am filled with joy
this is not a death sentence
and you, my unmournable brother
who did not make it out alive
i’ll live in delight for the both of us
and cast twin shadows upon
hardened rock and forest floor
we will both knead the land
your feet might have impressed
i can call for you now
you cannot answer but i can call
and you are listening
Grey Sparrow Journal 