He stands on a corner

In the shadow

Out from under the glow

Of a street lamp

As dark as night

Still as a breathless statue

At the foot of a bed

Silent as a graveyard

Beneath a full moon

Until the wolf howls

There is little comfort

In his cold stare

The icy touch of a finger

Feathering your brow

Long sharp nails

Tracing the contours

Of your struggle

The sweat of this long fight

No smile of recognition

Word of consolation

Pity or remorse

Even as the waiting dawns

The slip of death

Is not so tortured

Nothing known

Will be regained

It is in the dying

Where lies the pain

The wringing out

The moment lost

Life’s precious grip

So easily slipped

With his strong hand

The instrument of passing

He is death

And he waits silently

Beside you

Until the coming of the day

For all that lay between us in distance and in life, I was not ambivalent to his pain. He was my brother and I loved him.