| Places Like This Everywhere My parting is not yet death But piece of faith so mild Gentle as a mother's hand on a child's chest You and the rest in the photograph on the wall Some dead five years An old house grown wild with strangers' voices Not my house Two years there lays a claim But mild I've never scratched my name on a lintel Or closet wall To call to future eyes "This is mine; this was mine; here was mine" Vague flutterings of memories we imagine Stare from where these things are written There are places like this everywhere There are faces Built from a collection of mirrors In hallways where voices beg us pause We turn to our own face But find the memory gone. |