younger brother

almost-son

I see you.

these days the black and white of our world has faded to shades of grey,

like some elementary school art project sun-bleached in its frame

until the colors don’t look quite right anymore.

I am old enough to miss the sharp distinction between black ink and white paper

but still too young to know the difference,

watching humanity and insanity lie a shade away from one another.

It’s alright, though, because you’re one of the good ones.

And I wonder, sometimes, if they forget that.

I wonder how, in this place of ink and irony

they see only numbers and letters and boxes,

something physical in this material world.

something to grab onto as the rest fades away.

little one-

sparrow’s song-

we both know you have never been one for material pursuits.

they see what is, black and white and empty canvas, something finite,

where you see something that isn’t, but could be.

gentle child.

faultless boy.

what is it like to fly?

they worry, you know,

about the weight of your wings,

screaming for you to land

before you become another cautionary tale,

Icarus incarnate.

and maybe they’re right,

but we are young and foolish

and if you want to touch the sky

I will try my best to catch you.