Floatation only works when both bodies cannot sync.

 

On the day my brother first learnt

To swim, someone died with

A strange song in their mouth.

The wind would then crack my

Mother’s healthy lungs and plant

An ache, the size of a cough.

Our house would then open

And swallow condolences.

Ours mouths would then sing

And squeeze hope-prayers.

Our songs would then break

And fill all the pores on our bodies.

Our God would then open me to reality,

On the day my brother first learnt to swim,

His body and the river were both made of

Light so they sync, the river would then

Flow and casts its burden by the shore,

Where my brothers water-filled body

Would later be found —sync.