We’ve temporarily lost our wings.

So I trot crudely under an ashen sunset,

An almost full moon up in a milk-blue sky,

And the lonely evening call of birds up high

in the freedom whisper of trees.

If they wanted to, they could leave tonight.

Take flight and arrive down south

Just in time to watch the sunrise 

again

Mirrored like quicksilver in a window

And behind it — they wouldn’t even know

how lucky they are  to see it, to be this

close — 

my brother, 

my oldest friend of hair and bones,

cradling quietly

His new-born son.