Weights strapped to your chest,
you jumped, landing on your back
in the Oakland psychiatric ward.
Eyes shut, I dream softly of parachutes
falling across the sun-streaked sky
to the beach below our house.
You are there, grinning like a hero,
as the straps drop away. Father, his arm
around you, whistles, and Collette
bounds into the moment, joyous, living.
All around and in you is light,
mirroring the shimmering sea. I reach
for you then, saltwater burning
my hands. As your face drifts away,
I plunge after you into the water.
"Father, where are you?" Our sail
has disappeared. Funeral ashes float
on the bay -- nothing for us to hold on to.
And so the years pass like translucent waves,
carrying me away from my brother.
Standing on the top of Sandia Crest,
I call out his name. On the Bay Bridge,
his head turns, hearing whispers again.
Gulls rise from the driftwood, startled