with him was smaller.
A thumb moving against satin.
A brother refusing to leave.
A coffin opening before the flames could take him.
And the impossible, sacred sound of someone saying, ‘He has a pulse.’
with him was smaller.
A thumb moving against satin.
A brother refusing to leave.
A coffin opening before the flames could take him.
And the impossible, sacred sound of someone saying, ‘He has a pulse.’