16 January, 1998

The ICU warriors
battle metabolism and toxins
and my brother
is the battleground.

Here,
in the street beneath his room,
many lives move under a gray
January sky,
enfolded in fragile freedom
from pain,
and fear,
and awareness
of delicate mortality.

Nine floors above is the window
that looks out on the street
that he cannot see
but can only dream of
in some deep place,
the place where he holds fast to life.

He is the most brilliant light I can see
in this building
filled with stars.

in memory of Brett