life as prototype of dreams

my brother hid
with his friend
behind

(i imagine now
his hair
being threaded by cobwebs older
than we)

the broken red snow sled
its cylinders gasping for fresh benzene
now for years we hadn’t known ourselves

behind noises that belonged
between the trees
in the woods
across the road

behind the lesson
that there is no discovery
if there is no fear

this prototype became realized.
he fixed
those iron lungs, and
i went looking
for the noises that belonged
between the trees
in the woods
across the road

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