Collected up in laurel wreaths they found it
A reason not to grieve
Then they stitched it to our sleeves
And said, "Maybe it's the dead who should be praying
For those of us who still have shaking shoes to fill."
So they took the hollow land that we had left
And they welcomed every weed their fingers met
Saying, "Life is just that, no matter how sad it is."
We buried them in pairs along the flood plain
So no one could complain
For lack of things to say
Some cemetery bird was shedding bad dreams
Like feathers floating down
But they'll never reach the ground
And you knew there was a hole you could not fill
You were fired in a kiln against your will
But the rivets that bound your love to the ground were still intact
But if we're all just beads
On a rosary
Then a breaking cord
Could set us free
You built a quiet house for all your worries
Then sent them off to sleep
And knelt down next to me