When I write about extraordinary
\nI use blood as ink.
\nI climb a trellis to search for light.
\nThere is porridge in a bowl
\nwith sugar and milk
\nspilled on the table.<\/p>\n
The past is future,
\nas much as anything.
\nI breathe in my brother\u2019s lungs.
\nI see sunshine
\nshine in his tears,
\nrun miles and miles synchronized
\ntogether,
\nwoven in a life.<\/p>\n
We climbed stones,
\nbattled bullies,
\nsat side by side in Gene Autry movies.
\nLicked cones back and forth
\nand fought over what mattered most,
\ntoys.<\/p>\n
Then met in dreams until birds called us,
\nfrom miles away at dawn,
\nbrother flying with brother,
\nuntil day stops calling, someday. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
When I write about extraordinary I use blood as ink. I climb a trellis to search for light. There is porridge in a bowl with…<\/p>\n