Brother, have you at last earned
the peace and solitude
which somehow eluded you
Perhaps you speak now in ways
I cannot hope to understand:
the repeating parentheses
of gently falling snow,
insistent pulse of a birch tapping
against the window glass,
sudden shock of a crow wing torn
and frozen to the sidewalk.
You, who saved up your words
like trinkets for a rainy day,
offer no reply but this,
the space you have shaped
in your former image.
Or perhaps your silence has
become your song at last,
the one you had been secretly
rehearsing all along.
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