Sometimes I take pictures of the sky.
I imagine it’s my brother.
Some days, he’s all blue and gold
and lavender with the clouds bending
the sun. And I say to myself,
look, he’s bending
the sun and spanning the horizon.
Other days, I strain to see him
--so bright and blinding--
the way he stopped letting us see him
before he wanted to let us all go
before guns and “self-inflicted.”
And still--a year later, I force it.
I hold the camera up at sunset
searching for whatever the right angle
is for everything being on fire.
My eyes water from looking
directly into it for too long.
I squint but don’t dare let myself
look away even when
No. Wait. Stay. Please.
No, not even when everything--
No. Please. You’re beautiful.
suddenly becomes shades of sinking.