August 2026
brother's big three
after Paul Tran
Sun in Capricorn
Water broke in
the mountain's
high summit.
Descended past
the train loop,
the firstborn
arrived on
the flat San
Joaquin valley
floor. A junior.
Then one city
to another
to a desert to
a church in
the concrete
jungle. The son
became a man
sitting. The
church floored
with officers
aiming. His
hands reached
for his phone.
Water then
desert then fire.
A trainwreck.
They fired
fired fired. The
church became
a grave.
Moon in Gemini
He flirted
with life.
He moved
around,
breathless
with a need.
His forte was
the word.
He tended
towards the
intellectual
to detach as
if it were all
a story. He
desired to fly.
His denial
of emotion
became
defense
against
closeness.
He had a
tendency to
fidget if he
stayed for
too long.
He tattooed
forever young
on his right
bicep. His
time was
spent.
Rising in Sagittarius
This year a cake
could have
thirty-eight
candles, as
December gets
closer, I dream
what wishes
brother might've
made had his
phone number
still led to his
voice, the scruff
of stubble against
the mic, he'd
say, Remember
me? I'd just
sob, I love you,
he'd sigh, then
we'd Facetime,
I'd say, I do, so
he'd never ask
again—and yet
I wake every
BJ-less day
knowing the
constant asking
was the seeker
in him—his way
to make sure I'd
remember, so
when it came
time to live
without him, I
would.