Anne Coray

LETTER FROM A BROTHER

It is the tailspin of autumn;
we know where this is going.
When I last wrote
I could still stand alone.
The funniest thing
is watching the leaves
which seem uncertain
where to land--
as if it mattered!
Mother frets
about the drip at my window
and can't fathom the delay
in the Grieg she ordered.
(Lyrische Stucke--
Jesus-Christus-Kirche recording.)
I was thinking the other day of hope,
how like blood it is
leaving for the first time the body,
how it believes in that new color
for a slick moment
before it begins to congeal...
Do you remember that dream I had
cold winter, no snow?
We were looking for a tree
--it must have been Xmas--
to either decorate or burn.
When I swung the axe
we discovered the tree was glass.
Back home, the wind had blown
your votive candles out.
I think I knew then
our bodies are a kind of crystal ash.

Write, if you get a chance.
Love,
Paul