Brother, today I sit on the brick bench outside the house, 

where you make a bottomless emptiness.

I remember we used to play at this hour of the day, and mama 

would calm us: "There now, boys..."

Now I go hide

as before, from all these evening 

prayers, and I hope that you will not find me. 

In the parlor, the entrance hall, the corridors. 

Later, you hide, and I do not find you. 

I remember we made each other cry, 

brother, in that game.



Miguel, you hid yourself

one night in August, nearly at daybreak,

but instead of laughing when you hid, you were sad. 

And your other heart of those dead afternoons

is tired of looking and not finding you.  And now

shadows fall on the soul.



Listen, brother, don't be too late

coming out. All right? Mama might worry.