Night, un-air-conditioned June and I've lost my brother again
under the moon's aimless syringe searchlight, he could be anywhere

or anyone now, any molecule, I think, when his phone dials mine.
Dustin, I hiss, afraid I'll wake the friend whose couch I'm crashing on,

then louder, trying to get the dose right so he might hear me,
muffled static in his jeans pocket, afraid my voice dangling between my teeth

can't tether him to the earth anymore, steamvoice trying to knot
all the tongue can't say. Don't, come home, if you're going

to kill yourself, don't, let me watch. Afraid it is the last time, his voice and a man's
comingled, dissolving but some part of him floating

on top of the water downstreaming into the waiting drain of my ear,
some essential insoluble him unsunk, my brother laying unclaimed

could be skimmed home. Like listening in a needle,
some solution of sound sucked up, injected, it would never be enough.