The only furniture
in that tiny room
where my brother lives
is a mirror
on a plain white
wall. When I enter
that room
there is only myself.

I am searching for
my brother. I have no brother.

My brother travels
through gnashing seas
in a boat as frail and poor
as my own. I look
in all directions
but he is always
eight miles away
the horizon always seven.

I am searching for
my brother. I have no brother.

He dresses
in worn out suits
discarded by failed
suicides. The price is
right. The fit perfect.
But how, in these worn out
threads, am I to recognize
my brother.

I am searching for
my brother. I have no brother.

Deep in the woods
I enter a clearing
where a dark animal
waits to interview me.
He will not want to know
about my life, just that of
my brother, and I will tell him
that I have no brother.

I am searching for
my brother. I have no brother.