le petit oiseau a disparu.

The quiet in you, I love.
And although this isn't really you,
I love it still.
I cherish and hold it as you.
It lasts in and of and for itself.

One of the Great Domestic Mysteries

My brother cries every afternoon.
Inescapably, every 5pm exactly, heavy sobs and real water tears
Mould the house into a sinking ship.
4.30pm is shower time.
The familiar slaps of the soapy washer
Make him laugh in buoyant hicks
His legs are ticklish
He makes a game of snatching the washer and pegging it.
The water stops, towelling begins
And so does the downward post-shower lament.

This ritual; one of the Great Domestic Mysteries
could only be solved if he could speak.
Some kind of 30 minute miracle would do it.
Among other pending questions about his life, I'd ask him:
"Why the daily 5pm Death?"
"Would you recommend a scheduled 'piece of mind' cry every day?"
"Is it the feeling of the towel that you hate?"
"Or is it the sadness of another day passing as a man suffocating in his own endless limitations?"

21st century miracles are rare.

After a lie down, his sobbing heaves
Slow.
He calms in time for an early dinner
of mushed up tuna bake and vegetables.