No one in the front window
notes who's passing. No one
is waiting. No one worries
that the bathroom light is left on.
All summer the yard rejoiced
at the sound of a neighbor's mower.
Now, though no one thinks to ignite
the pilot beneath the furnace,
the house stands handsomely in snow.
Ask about my brother; I will tell
how spring and death approached
together. Ask me about weather,
and I will point out the gables,
eaves he painted painstakingly.
And the furniture, how it swells
in my close apartment.