She wails a white handprint
where the riverweeds dance like claws
no snow but river sand

a white voice singing to the children
Weep with me, niños,
dress washed white as salt

river-white moon bleached
Weep for the pale moth
a mouth at each drenched breast

ten tiny fingers clutching her hair
Weep for ice rime and mother’s milk
ground up like bonemeal

white in the water
dragging the little ones to sleep
burns the lungs like frothy fire