leprechaun 

we search for you all day in the forest of shoes.
my brother holds the lantern & i hold 
the trash bag we plan to catch you with. 
i still remember the first stories we heard
of you. our uncle would sometimes
sit in the rocking chair & explain,
"if you blink he is gone." i know so much
in this world is the same. i have lost gods 
& rivers & lovers like leprechauns. we walk.
i do not ask my brother what
he wants to wish for when we catch you.
we find shoes the size of trees
& shoes so small they must be worn
by voles. we try some on. none of them fit
but we find ones close enough. we eat ground cherries.
it is autumn & soon it will be too late
to fix everything. sometimes it already feels
too late. i am going to wish for 
an extra year. one pressed between
the precipice. maybe one more year
in the city without a death cloud.
one more year to look at my warbling face
in the bay. o brother there is so much
i haven't ever said aloud. i think
if i did the roof would rip open
& vultures would come to live among us. 
tell me your secrets & i will keep mine
in a plastic bag in the back of my sock drawer.
we do not find you. the sun spins 
a full cycle around us. my brother weeps.
he says, "you promised he was here."
"i've seen him," i lie. i have never seen you,
my leprechaun. i've seen footprints
& once i heard a laugh. i guess it could
have been anything but then there are the shoes.
who else would make shoes like this?
i tell my brother we cannot give up.
finally we rest in separate shoes. they smell
like a held breath. i dream of you coming to me.
of saying, "i saw how hard you searched
so here i am." of course that does not happen.
in the morning we walk home. empty our pockets
of any shoes. we do not catch you.
i ask my brother, "do you want to tell me
what you would have wished for?"
he says, "no. i still feel like there might be 
a chance" & so i don't tell him mine either.