Sand through my fingers. Seth is watching, 4 million

counting. A quiet myth, post or pre- natal, we don't

understand the breeze and twilight. Wishing, upon

multiple stars, dad could be here with us. A sentimental

thing, sis is happy being married. Counting white flowers


in the fields by the old churchyard. Weather report, the

mainland hazards always maximized, pointing. Seth's

hair in the wind, masking his face 4 a moment. Dutch

dikes, incandescent strong as they stand concrete above...

My brother, & my junior, and me, standing by his grave...