David, 17, Dreams of His Dead Twin Brother
(During a Thunder Storm)

I got your letter.
I wish I could
understand what
you’re trying to tell me.
 
When I cut myself shaving,
do you bleed?
Do you see me in your mirror?
I see you.
 
At night,
I think I have
only
one eye.
 
But I’ll get it back
when the sun and moon
shine on our
birthday.

©Jeff Fiorito 1987