Requiem By the Riverwalk

My final night in the desert isle
that is San Antonio; dark
shadows quietly motor boat past:
rio taxis heading to rest,
all lights with colorful talk
in earlier evening hours, now
they glide by silent as hearses
despite the festive crowds
still milling on the walk, tourists
still drinking in hotel river bars.

At a forgotten stretch,
I sit watching the darkened
river traffic heading home;
a glass of wine stands
between me and the water,
it is dark as the stygian loop
flowing around this mirth;
a nice chianti to end the day
before consigning myself
to Morpheus,
perchance to dream.

Such dreams will come:
at eighteen years
discovering a brother;
learning his story
in bits and bytes;
showing up together only
in funerals, then, blessedly,
annual reunions, siblings
dancing in line like
rockettes too long in tooth,
bearing many arthritic years,
yet dance we always did.

There will be one less dancer
this next gathering
today our brother
let go his final hold
and sank beneath
the surface of the world.

RIP Bruce Chamberlin
5 August 2015