FOR THE LOCAL BOY WHO SLIPPED AND FELL
           WHILE DIVING INTO THE DELAWARE RIVER
 

The boy is at the bottom of the river.

Though they carried his body out,

fashioned a boat of their ponderous grief

to hold him, still:

the boy is at the bottom of the river.

 

No release, no resurrection from

this star-swallowing water completely.

The body taken, yes.

The soul lifted to higher ground, yes.

 

But always a part of him bound to the rocks below.

Always something remains, purling over the stones.

 

Listen—you can hear it,

under the night’s code of crickets

and clang of atoms:

 

the river calling him by name.

His heart singing into the rills.

His parents’ endless keening.

 

The silver fishes of the world

swim right through it.