In the mirror this river made of you
waxes a mother’s wish: I want the whole world
to see what they did to my boy. In the casket,
you whistle, stuttering. You reek under glass. So
this is what a river will do, carve and swell
just like a woman, singing a glossy blues.
Lord knows, your face—it sorrows across my page.

Lord knows your face. It sorrows across my page
just like a woman singing a glossy blues.
This is what a river will do, carve and swell.
You whistle, stuttering. You reek under glass, so
to see what they did to my boy. In the casket
waxes a mother’s wish. I want the whole world
in the mirror this river made of you.