My brother in the branches
a sunken candelabra
lifeboats of eyeballs
snarling in ashen twine

a drum's head in his skull bone
raging cushion of mustaches
tugged across a painted field.

Bulbs pushing from soil's twilight
the winding of compacted paths
his seat of angelic hands
a bruised view of breezes
taken to the edge of rocks
where green pines slide into the sky
and a visor fills with cloudy blood
face to prefigured face.