If I had a brother, I would name him.
Combing his hair would feel like giving,
though his reflection couldn't be seen in the mirror.
Relishing in our disagreements, I would want to talk
less to people. On a public bus, we would sit together
and speak nonsense - not those dialogues that want
to be important. I would tell him about a stone
I saw in Idaho that was perfectly yellow.
He would tell me how he got caught in a blackberry bush
while walking on beach train tracks.
We would open our eyes wide
and never remember our names.