I thank you for this scene

Of your mother in a lounge room, 
Your father in a garden and your brother

Who refuses to share his mind  
But I should explain, at least, that your

Mother, from your story, has not flopped
Into a chair, in a room in your house

But in mine; and your father, see, 
I have him here, looking out

Across a lawn, in our backyard.
Well, he does not notice your brother,

Your father, but we have this link, 
Your brother and I, for he has

Known me, all of his life. 
Now I ask, if my story is taking place

In your home — if you have marbled
My mother, in rooms which I have

Never seen before; 
And so, is my father, in your patio

Sending out his cigarette-smoke-signals 
And my brother, if you have him

Do you have that link, for he has known you 
all of

 your life.
I ask, if in these reborn scenes,
If disbelief

  is what we share? 
I have you next

to your mother, 
In a haze, a wool of grief.