It's not in the listening to the absurdities

-

It's not in the listening to the absurdities
that spill out of your mouth, like milk
from a feeding infant's

nor in the sitting, eating, sleeping
together, as if we were brothers,
that I've come to understand

Honestly, I couldn't tell you how it is that
I know your emptiness, perhaps
we were brothers once, although now,
that seems impossible.

Forgive me if I ever have, I don't
pity you. That emptiness isn't real. It's clear
when you exhale on a cold fall night
and pause to admire the billowing clouds of warmth

In those nebulous formations (I know you see the same
as I do) your life; welling up from within