There's a ghost at the edge of the yard
And a husk, a shed and a garden
It's a virus that swells in the grass
It's the ration that stays in the water
There's a boy with his back to the porch
There's a root, a jar on the floor
It's the field that is tied to his ankle
It's the fodder that sticks to the table
There's a ghost of a beast in the woods
And a trace of a shell in the dirt
It's the path to the place where he lay
It's the look of a crow on the grey