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