The winter he was nine, my brother
dug a cave in his room
and disappeared.
We left food: bright apples,
smooth skinned as the moon,
whispering of trees and
wind through branches, silk sac clouds
scattered rain and seeds, green notes
for a boy vanishing,
erasing into dark.
He left clues: schemes of war,
intricate portraits , dark with bombs
tracer bullets stitching the sky.
leaves flew into the cave, making dry
sere sounds, as if bones
knocked, bone on bone,
a scuffling slouching sound as if
a boy turned bear, a boy turned
fur and claw, ear and eye disposed
to winter hibernation, broken innocence
asleep.