My brother is still alive and living
All day he stares at the dead bodies
In his garage. It isn’t a prison
He’d wish himself free of.
I visit him,
Dragging my boxes
Of books and awards
We are walking out of the city
Into the white flame of the desert.
Not unlike the Desert
Fathers walking out into Sinai.
My brother carries his briefcase
Loaded in icons and dollar bills.
He is wearing Larry Levis’s shining
Suit and black leather boots.
I am wearing a pale gown
Of sun-bleached flowers.
We are talking
About the Resurrection.
We are walking dead
Leaving the world and its sweet chorus
Of horrors behind.
There is no city
But the city within.
No door, but the door
To simple wisdom.
We walk, dumb
Into the tremendous and endless