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 their piles of fallen leaves       There are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass    Springtime calls her children 'till 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 'round 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