A River Is a Body Running

The first time I found my brother 
overdosed, he looked holy. A thing
not to be touched. Yellow halo of last 
night’s dinner. His skin, blanched blue
fresco: Patron Saint of Smack. A cop,
flustered, tugged up his shorts, plunged
a needle into a pale thigh. He hissed 
awake like a soda can. The paramedic 
spoke softly in his ear like a lover, 
asked him what color yellow and red 
make. What is the difference between 
a lake and a river? In the corner
I whittle that used syringe into
an instrument only I can play.