There are things that drift away
Like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off
And she's chosen to believe
In the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from the
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
Somewhere near her misplaced jar
There are things we can't recall
Blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in
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
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
