Such as the Unveiling Sleep Voice & My Brother
by Ron Clinton Smith (March 2026)
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Such as the Unveiling Sleep Voice
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Before the world flew apart I thought
I heard you moaning, in your sleep
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I heard you retracing every step the
Universe spoke, before the clouds
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Were loaned to the sun and sucked
Inside the shadows of the moon
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I heard you calling the name of the
Most high, asking for the answers
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We must receive with prayer
Because faith is carrying us like
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Leaves on the wind and I think I
Heard your question calling down
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And whispering the name of the
Dawn, the enraptured folklore
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Of the reigning light, casting shadows
On us as we sleep, and know there
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Is no wrong we cannot untangle
As we float above the surface of
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Singular time, we as only that our
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Grievances turn to blessings like gold
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And where we walk we are blessed
And our flesh should be at the crest
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Of the mountain where eagles with
Angel’s wing answer the prayers
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In our dreams, and there is nothing
Remiss or holding us, and there is no place we
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Hold onto, and we change into the answer
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To our dreams, for we have come here seeking
The solace of the power of loving wind
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We are only here to listen to the storm of
Salvation, and the laughter that is regeneration.
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My Brother
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My brother died 6 days ago
Facedown in a Kroger parking lot
With a devastating brain bleed
On a cool October night next to
His motorized wheel chair
At 12:40 AM
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on his way home from George’s
bar where he’d gotten off the
rehab bus to buy a cash three ticket
and was found alone
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hours after he’d texted me
“good luck my bro”
And lay in the ICU again
This time irreparable
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No reprieve like 6 years ago when
His heart stopped five times and
He fought back slowly over three
Months in a coma with doctors
Telling us he didn’t have a chance
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And defied their odds
Hanging by a thread
Until they couldn’t believe
How much fight he had
And he was their miracle man
Back from the dead
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And slowly emerged with little
Use of his limbs from strokes
At the mercy of Budd Terrace
Near Emory hospital where
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They gave him physical therapy
But disability wouldn’t pay for more
And after surgery on his knees
His doctor said therapy wouldn’t help
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Writing him off to dwell in a place
Where most came to die,
Pure invalids, our older brother
Finding him a fine motor chair
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And he’d break out and catch the bus
To the bar to see his friends who loved him
Have a few beers and watch the games,
And I said, “Thank God we didn’t lose you
Back there,” and he said, “It’s a tossup.”
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We’d sit down by the creek and throw
Bread balls to the turtle and fish and
Eat canned oysters and listen to the
Allman Brothers and laugh about good
times and share borrowed time
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Until the brother you remember
Being born when you were eleven
At 1:40 AM on February 1st lays
Unconscious in the ICU
Pumped with meds and breathing tubes
With no way back this time
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And I said “I love you my brother, we’ll
always be together my good brother,
Goodbye good brother, and good luck.”
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