analasis and thoughts of this poem?

Brother

Last night I arrived

a few minutes

before the storm,

on the lake the waves slow,

a gray froth cresting.

Again and again the computer voice said

you were disconnected

while the wind rattled

the motel sign outside my room

to gather

its nightlong arctic howl,

like an orphan moaning in sleep

for words in the ceaseless

pelting of sleet,

the night falling

to hold a truce with the dark

In the Botticellian stillness

of a clear dawn I drove

by the backroads to your house,

autumn leaves like a school of yellow tails

hitting the windshield

in a ceremony of bloodletting.

Your doorbell rang hollow,

I peered through the glass door,

for a moment I thought

my reflection was you

on the otherside,

staring back,

holding hands to my face.

It was only the blurred hold of memory

escaping through a field of glass.

Under the juniper bush

you planted when your wife died,

I found the discarded sale sign,

and looked for a window

where you'd prove me wrong

signaling to say

it was all a bad joke.

As I head back, I see the new

owners, pale behind car windows

driving to your house,

You're gone who knows where,

sliced into small portions

in the aisles of dust and memory.