— For Donna
Rain comes back to the East River,
never the same river
but the buildings still toss their lights
on the water like flaming cocktails, the ferry
groans as it docks and then turns
away. Rain returns
to the river and goes
wherever souls go, thronging
forward and falling back. Your sister
at the end, flushed with morphine, called out
to the gone dog of your childhoods Here
girl, here—
Come in from the balcony, honey.
I’ve made you some food.
Sit in this chair and force it down
and we’ll hate God together and remember her.