Mis Hermanos

Fyodor, my Fyodor,

I fell in love with you as a child

When I read all your stories

Of the wounded, the wanting, the wild.

You also lived in isolation, nearly died,

But your deepest thoughts lay open, undefiled.

I loved you for those.

 

Luther, my Luther,

Your life captured me first:

Your grief, your guilt, your desperate grace.

In your best, you saw your worst.

You became my brother, my kindred

In flame and thirst.

I loved you for your company.

 

Lewis, my Lewis,

You, my letter-bearer, my closest friend,

Opened wonder, beauty, structure,

Expanse of water, and depth of wind.

You explained so much

Of God and men.

I loved you as my teacher.

 

My brothers, my friends,

Across oceans and mortality,

Foreign languages and foreign lifetimes,

In fellowship you reached out to me, one body.

Though I possessed expanding lungs,

It was always, only, yours to speak,

So I loved you.

 

Ghosts, my ghosts,

I never walked your halls, or ate your food.

I only saw your polished best;

Never confused, angry, or crude.

I never spoke to your heart, or thought,

Nor was I one of your brood

Who knew you.

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