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To My Brother Miguel In Memoriam

 Brother, today I sit on the brick bench of the house,
where you make a bottomless emptiness.
I remember we used to play at this hour, and mama caressed us: "But, sons.
.
.
" Now I go hide as before, from all evening lectures, and I trust you not to give me away.
Through the parlor, the vestibule, the corridors.
Later, you hide, and I do not give you away.
I remember we made ourselves cry, brother, from so much laughing.
Miguel, you went into hiding one night in August, toward dawn, but, instead of chuckling, you were sad.
And the twin heart of those dead evenings grew annoyed at not finding you.
And now a shadow falls on my soul.
Listen, brother, don't be late coming out.
All right? Mama might worry.

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