in my dreams the dead pretend to be alive
but why must you be dead in my head
memories retain their nature
and sometimes you cease to exist when I’m asleep
and I imagine you sitting on our mother’s roof at night
in admiration of the stars that both of your windows framed
and you console her as she cannot sleep
fall asleep like you did
a face is in the making
your death can’t find rest in our mother’s face
her eyes hold what her hands cannot
her body cracks on the edge of your absence
your voice in the back of her head
she knows better
than to turn around and expect
how can I give birth to death
moonlight finds her late at night
my brother’s well-remembered silhouette
and she waits
and he listens
Croque-Melpomene 