Passing Afternoon

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
spring time calls her children till she
lets 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've 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