in a place of redolent relaxation lives him, the lavender him. the him bathed
in herbaceous patterns of bachelor, he, the perpetual bachelor. thinking of
thinking once it’s after. a gentleness
growing around in layers and bouncing flowerbud prayers in between the lazyday
stitches of laughter.
my brother was the first example
of what it meant to be a man of the violet type. a fragrant man who speaks easy. a neat and quiet type of
modesty. a traveler who appreciates
in biological bouquets of understatement. fond of a neutral
temperament, he is kind. made of
florets in filament.
it just recently occurred that his
familial herbs have been infused within my veins since I was new and he was
four and a half. suffused within
our common memories, his oils had, essentially, chilled to the touch at my temples
before I was old enough to be cognizant or to run.
brother, the external stresses that grow into other peoples’ worries
have no vibration in your perennial rotation. you hum a bluish-purple medicine. separate, living in your own
calendar, a chimeric atmosphere of your own pluck or gather. our family roots
in from the calming stems of your sibling stoicism. and I am Blessed to have known
you since our genesis. you, kin, attract
and smash the butterfly wings into a timeline of linear love.
