brother poem

the rain was over, and the brilliant air
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
i stood
passing through huddled and ugly walls
were it not for that singular smell
long ago, in the young moonlight
lady, your heart has turned to dust
my son is dead and i am going blind
with the sunset
the agony of having too much power
see, from this counterfeit of him
as a naked man i go
he'd even have his joke
white foam flower, red flame flower