Brother, today I am on the stone bench by the door,

where we miss you terribly!

I recall how we would play at this hour, and Mama

would caress us: “Now, boys …”

NowI go hide,

as before, all those evening

prayers, and hope you do not find me.

Through the living room, the hall, the corridors.

Then, you hide, and I cannot find you.

I recall that we made each other cry,

brother, with that game.

Miguel, you hid

one night in August, at dawn;

but, instead of hiding laughing, you were sad.

And your twin heart of those extinct

evenings has grown weary from not finding you. And now

shadow falls into the soul.

Hey, brother, don’t take so long

to come out. Okay? Mama might get worried.