Alex Patriquin

Marginalia & found poetry. Short fiction and other projects. Musings  on startups. Photos from NYC and travels.

Prayer for the Dead

The light snow started late last night and continued   
all night long while I slept and could hear it occasionally   
enter my sleep, where I dreamed my brother   
was alive again and possessing the beauty of youth, aware   
that he would be leaving again shortly and that is the lesson   
of the snow falling and of the seeds of death that are in everything   
that is born: we are here for a moment   
of a story that is longer than all of us and few of us   
remember, the wind is blowing out of someplace   
we don’t know, and each moment contains rhythms   
within rhythms, and if you discover some old piece   
of your own writing, or an old photograph,   
you may not remember that it was you and even if it was once you,   
it’s not you now, not this moment that the synapses fire   
and your hands move to cover your face in a gesture   
of grief and remembrance.

by Stuart Kestenbaum