My brothers existence fell into
broken fragments when they buried
him.

His worlds was always fragments.

Whisper.

Silence.

Frozen gaze.

Winter’s touch carried the gap
admist horizons.

Memories encircle memories
in the horizon.

I look at you. Where are
our footprints? Breathing
outward. Your lios inward

Here. There.

The darkness sculpts the sky’s
essence. Snow falls then drifts.
And all of this, all of this,
all of this you used to term
existence and would throw it into
my mouth when Mother wasn’t
looking.

Salt upon timber stained in white.

A sparrow’s ballet upon the nearby
lake. The clouds look like
fingers.

The snow is a memory descending
downwards resounding the
symphony of absence.