You blunt horses
You casper ghosts
Your dust jackets
Creased sheets cold
Auburn wool pockets
Carve blossomed boats
Simple sandpaper
Cottered coats
And you became bones
And my brothers will burst into baskets of orange fruit
My sister will tame all the beasts she holds high
My mother will break bricks to weather her windows
My father will worry until he goes blind
And we all will sleep at the bottom of the river
I’ll sing sonata, bring the frostbite
Bury bones, I’ll call Niagara
Down the houselights, and stay home
Stop your novels, catch a cold
Stop your novels, dig your gold