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The Loom
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True Believers All
it seems the ghosts of the northeast
have crept into my blood again
their restless hungry hearts
their monuments to intellect
are coursing in my veins
and through my father's rhetoric
the lines that cross his face
speak all the words he should have said
and how we found our summer in the fall
and we're still true believers all
and how these puritan refrains
conspire to steal our breath again
while through these shadow plays
an underwriter's sketch of grace
and the logic in your hands
like invisible calligraphy
while through these hallway stairs
winds the unceasing search for symmetry
and how we found our summer in the fall
and we're still true believers all
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and all give their hands to god
and their voices to the suffering
their regrets to the silence
their bodies to the turning spring
while fighting tooth and nail
under the endless pull of gravity
while setting bone and sail
just like their mother's fathers did
now all that we have loved
is bound up in our epitaphs
and all your mother's dreams
lie hidden on an attic shelf
quaint monuments to time
carved from the stones she couldn't lift
these statues to admire
to provide the weight against the drift
and how we found our summer in the fall
and we're still true believers all
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