Dear Brother,

here, these weights our mouths carry don't break easily & these windows hold on to every last drop after a drizzled rain. i watch as each element morphs into reflections of what we are, what we've been. know, we are nothing but birds that haven't found their paths to soar, just a weird mix of wings and frustration stuck in limbo. i tell you, this angle of depression we've formed just gets longer.    but still, we whisper, we mutter, we munch on any word that makes our pain less heavy. perhaps these doors will sing in creaks again and open 

& what was once a moribund brook will breed noise even in its silence.