In our days we will live 
Like our ghosts will live:
Pitching glass at the cornfield crows 
And folding clothes 
Like stubborn boys across the road 
We’ll keep everything:
Grandma’s gun and the black bear claw 
That took her dog 
When Sister Lowery says, “Amen” 
We won’t hear anything:
The ten-car trains will take that word 
That fledgling bird 
And the fallen house across the way 
It’ll keep everything:
The baby’s breath
Our bravery wasted and our shame