"It is early You are dead There are crows in our bed But I won’t come undone We are done, we are done There is air still In my lungs I will get up and get on With the other mouths and tongues And the work there is to be done This is what becomes of us There are dim things in the pond There is dust under the rug And I don’t ever know What’s below what’s below But I am up! I am above! I have a new love! And it’s warm like a gun Or a knife that I fell on This is what becomes of us I was not ready You won’t be back I was not ready"