Drowned Boy One

Not his face or the color of his eyes or clothes but how Cold he is     and wet pulled from the creek That runs quietly by us     the quiet above all And I do remember brown hair and untied shoes And the wind moving in the trees a little And how his eyes were open    were they brown Were they gray and how blue pools around his lips And the slow Gulf-Coast Fritillary circling the circle We make and the trash in the grass and the circle we make And the small creek that runs quietly by us and how the hour Is leaving and how light he is to lift and how Cold he is and someone changes hands with me And we lift like children lifting a child in that somewhere else Children's room saying lighter than a feather lighter than a feather And firefighters cross their arms and stand Around the circle of trash in the grass.