There are times that walk from you
Like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn
But the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir
Her Bougainvillea blooms

There are things that drift away
Like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe
In the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from the piles of fallen leaves

There are sailing ships that pass
All our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children
Until she let's them go at last
And she's chosen where to be
Though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar
Of Bougainvillea seeds

There are things we can't recall
Blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in
Her fragile China dolls
But my hands remember hers
Rolling around the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still
Like songs I'd never learned

There are names across the sea
Only now I do believe
Sometimes, with the windows closed
She'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes
And they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones
So scared to be alone

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