Dawn is in an hour; in a night. A light on the long street on the grey river, on a long walk of broken clays. It takes only a streetlight to bare the sighs, the yawn of dark alleys,
of quiet honesty; the great peace of telling without cause, without want. The arm stretches and guides the body; the body doubles its warmth. Laughter snaps against brick and glass, and the eyes combine; heart combines with heart. And dawn is in the hour,
in the night.
The day my brother flew, I prayed for the last time; Asked for his acceptance, A chance to say goodbye. Stood inside the chapel, Whispered through the motions, Knowing in my chest I did not believe. Months gone from that day, I stood inside a basement, Staring out the window, Chainlink in my eyes. A host of white lights came, Gathered right beside me, Waited till I turned, Slowly sank away. I never told my folks. They could not believe it. I don't know what I saw, If I’m lying to myself. The day my brother flew, I sat down on a stairstep, Fingers in my hair, Asking why I breathe. He lived and enjoyed life. I don’t even like it. That was '91; The answer never came.