If you put your ear to the ground
like Algonquians did before you,
you will hear the dead humming,
“Keep the home fires burning
while your hearts are yearning…”
If you regularly knock on wood,
they will all be coming back to you.
I don’t know how, where or when.
Next year may never come—
why do we leave the world so soon?
Forget all words, hum a favorite tune
with a delicate glass of baby-girl wine.
Leave the door open, even though
you may not recognize who walks in.