A faraway town

Between the rows

               beside the mounds

       above the tombs he knows so well,

                              the tombs so dark, the tombs so cool,

               that pull him down

                       and bend him ’round

one frayed shoelace at a time, one copper-colored eyelet,

               a faraway town (without any news)

                              where no two flowers are the same, even by name,

                       no two dreams,

               no creaking boards (in a floor is his muse)

       he runs aground —

                                     Brother! Brother! Brother!

       (those without names, the most human of sounds)

                       .