with no regular timing,

like our ex-drummer

when he was drunk.

Like my heart's final beats,

1,000.

in three minutes.

The waves' arrhythmia

is all I hear in my brother's silence.

We sit side by side on the pier,

our legs dangling over the edge.

He and Krista pass a cigarette

back and forth

through me.

Mickey has quit smoking

six times in two months.

I splay my fingers,

admiring how the smoke curls

around and within

their violet glow,

like dry ice at a rock concert.

Mickey drops the cigarette butt

into his can of Pepsi.

It sizzles as the fire dies.

"He was so heavy."

He presses the back of his hand

against his mouth,

as if those four words

are the first drops in a flood

that will drown us all.

"Heavy, like a sandbag,

in my arms.

And behind that door.

It took both of us,

me and our sister, Siobhan,