. My Brother in Galilee I had a fearsome dream---I saw my friend -- My teacher-brother---nailed onto a cross. I wept with sorrow at my brother’s feet. He said his mother henceforth would be mine. Unearthly lightning blazed across the land. I gasped and woke, my blanket cold with sweat. What does it mean? I do not understand. Perhaps it’s nothing. It was just a dream. It’s morning now. The sun is bright. He’s fine. I fondly watch my friend, my teacher-brother Give thanks, eat breakfast, then stare at the clouds. He bids me sit. He smiles the hope I seek. He offers me warm bread. We rise and pray Before the crowds return to hear him speak. I love to hear him laugh. His cup is full. His eyes bear wisdom, honor, steadfast peace. He quotes the Scriptures freely; then he grins To watch the antics of the hoopoe bird. He’s fond of wine and fish fresh from the net. He beams at children; does not suffer fools. He’s more alive than any man I’ve met. I think of what he did at last week’s wedding Where he was welcomed as a kinsman’s guest. His miracle of water turned to wine Was unforgettable, beyond my ken. But I will long recall one other thing: How first he was aloof but by night’s end Danced with the joy that only faith can bring. He sometimes takes my hand. I see strange things: The future through a glass as dark as night. Sharp thorns are in his hair, scars in his palms. I close my eyes to shake this vision off. He sees my pain. “A psalm!” he says. “Let’s raise Our voices up and offer humble thanks. My Father’s works are worthy of our praise!” Last week he bid me join him up the hill. From there we watched men fishing on the lake. He touched my arm and said “You must have faith. The time will come when we shall never part.” His voice grew soft as he gazed at a tree--- He seemed to brood. His words seemed sad and strange: “My tree shall lead you to eternity.” I could not halt my tears. What is to come? He has so much to teach and love to give. These quiet, private moments which we share Are things I think he wants me to recall. He says that soon he’ll go where I can’t follow; And though I grieve, our Father understands And values tears more than a heart that’s hollow. . . Brian Yapko is a lawyer who also writes poetry. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.