The river darks with tarblood and small bones. The current

escapes North and carries Chatahoochee down the face of


Osun. Yemoja cries with her. Olokun waits

on the boys to arrive as ash and element.


Till my sweet boys return as mineral.

Till my mineral boys sweeten the water.


His paling flesh mirrors hands who dip him home to us.

Jamal: the algae’s greening. Malik and all his calcium decorate


the floor. These pearls were once teeth before the water’s

whittle and polish. Who said Black boys can’t swim?


I wish we'd met while it lived; that it had taught me moth-tongue.