The not-quite born
And not-quite dead
Thoughts of your lives—
Where are we now
If not as you
And in your house,
Your house of you,
The creaks in chests,
Moans heard in bed,
A howl out back,
Bangs from the shed—
You don’t name us—
We name names, us.
The clash ga’ed round.
We’ve left the ground.
