On my way upstairs to bed I stopped to sit
on the spiral staircase and reflect, reflect, until the mildness
of my thoughts lulled and calmed me; and then from
downstairs I heard music. It was my brother, Avram playing.
I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way.
Only within. Inside the brain. An indescribable impression. All my
senses wanted to sink into slumber. And when the last
day comes, I am sure — by ice or fire — he’ll
be down there playing away došanbe, sešanbe, cahâršanbe, he doesn’t
stop. That’s how we say Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday in Farsi.
Paraphrases from “The Workers All Call Daddy Cap’n” by Josh Short,
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries, Ulysses by James Joyce, “An Unstamped Letter in Our Rural Letter Box’ by Robert Frost, “Going to Sleep” by Hermann Hesse, and Paradise Lost by Clifford Odets.