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Sharon - a sad and brilliant poem. Thanks for letting us read it. The interweaving of the phrases addresses the interweaving of dream and reality, and the living and the dead, beautifully. Was this a 'given' poem? or did you have to work and work on it? It seems so natural to me, like folding dough in before baking a loaf. Andrew On 13/03/2008, sharon brogan <[log in to unmask]> wrote: > > A chilly overcast day. One day > unfolds into the next. My brother > visits my dreams, one night folding > into the next. I think of his long bones, > the long bones of his fingers, shards > in the ashes. I think of his passion > for opera, the depth of his voice, > his mind folding one day into > > the next. Sparrows calling from > the garden, scandal in the news, > mournful music on the radio. How > he loved Mozart, opera, Sondheim; > how his long legs loped through > the streets of Manhattan; how > that hole inside him could never > be filled; how he looms > > in my dreams, tall and alive; > the inconsequence of our > conversation, the dead to the living, > the living to the dead, not noticing > how one folds into the other, folding > together, dream into dream, brother > into sister. How we light each other's > smokes. How light we are, how thin. > > > > -- > > > ~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com | =^..^= > -- Andrew http://hispirits.blogspot.com/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/aburke/