Brother,

I saw you on the train last night

(Or was it Monday on the way back from the folks?)

Doesn’t matter because you are dead either way.

Aw, it’s not you at all.

Just another reason to write a poem.

Another reason to make something up.

There! With a screech and a holler

You be gone again towards over the bridge.

A Phantom deformed in a stranger

Attached by suggestion to memory

And for that moment

Confused by love.