Mr. Langley tells me a story
about two brothers whose daddy
drove away on a motorcycle one day
and never came back.
One brother later lost his bearings
when the world dumped its rain
and the other brother carried
the lost back to life.
He tells me how he spent
those days after his breakdown
searching the sky with his brother
and his brother’s boy.
Two men and a little boy
staring at clouds, trying
to find the answers to life,
Mr. Langley says. His eyes
turn real sad.
He saved me.
So now I try to save others.
He doesn’t look at me,
but I think he says that
last part for me.
around here? I say.
Mr. Langley squints up at the sky.
He died last year, he says, and then
he jumps to his feet and
runs back to the building.
He picks up the can he threw down
a while ago and shakes it and
starts spraying.
When he steps back,
away from the center cloud,
it doesn’t look like a white
blob anymore. It looks like
a dragon blowing smoke rings.
He is grinning when
he turns around, and
I can’t help but join him.