we painted, or took pictures,

When once that Fall, which was a while ago, it rained,

All the airs whispering and cool on our faces,

And the colors falling hotly, and our sky drowning;

And the empty climate of the wood around our house

Would remind you and I we had only cornbread to eat, and each other;

Where we lived I would go, and

Pluck flowers out of coffins,

And bring them back to you. They sat,

And drank up their black spines from pewter vases

the water drawn from pools

on the train tracks behind our house where our children trod, safe and secure

that never a train would run, that these places always freightless were.