Collected up in laurel wreaths they found it,
A reason not to grieve
And they stitched it to our sleeves

Saying, "maybe it's the dead who should be praying
For those of us who still
Have shaking shoes to fill"

So they tilled 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 floodplain,
So no one could complain
For lack of things to say

And some cemetery bird was shedding bad dreams
Like feathers floating down
But they'll never reach the ground

When 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 in tact.

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
And sent them off to sleep,
Then knelt down next to me.


from In The House Of Dust, released December 1, 2011


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