The Theory & Practice of Rivers

Near the estuary north of Guilford
my brother recites the Episcopalian
burial service over his dead daughter.
Gloria, as in Gloria in Excelsis.
I cannot bear this passion and courage;
my eyes turn toward the swamp
and sea, so blurred they’ll never quite
clear themselves again. The inside of the eye,
vitreous humor, is the same pulp found
inside the squid. I can see Gloria
in the snow and in the water. She lives
in the snow and water and in my eyes.
This is a song for her.