Toy soldiers drip from my brother’s fingers while he sleeps,
We carry memories under our fingernails like courtiers to the dead,
But we’ll all wear that plumage on our shoulders like lions

One day.

But we fold the edges of our tombs together and set them in the earth
Like fences, to keep the wolves out,
Or a blanket to sleep under.

We all wear our father’s bones around our neck,
The way my brother does,
While the earth is orchestrated above us,
Cemetery like a stage,
Biding time to whisper,
Are we alive or just lying?

Do we wander or  
Do we race along like wind up cars,
The way my brother does,
On the road to awe.