Ashes in the Rio Chama

“I close my eyes, and think of water.” –James Wright

I close my eyes and think of
water. Water flowing crystal
clean, the brook, the forest
gilded in daybreak, serene

Water from an icy spring high in
the Spanish mountains, the road
as heated as a griddle
as we wound our way down

to supper and a bottle of wine. Water
carried away my son, or what was
left of his mortal remains, my hand,
my hindsight too blackened

to know what I was doing in this
humble ritual. The river is flowing,
I sang into the immaculate silence of our
mourning circle. Kaddish suddenly

understood, the need to weave praise or leave
the earth to its wretched toil. I was thirsty
for a sprinkle of water on my brow
from the holy font scummed with marbled

green by the church door. I think of water,
flowering in womb-warmth to be re-
born, the salty return
to innocence if I could but believe