We filled the house, its caverns
With breath and light and noise.
Its stony silence crumbled
Under the cheerful battering rams
Of our bodies.
Empty floors grew tables,
Books sprouted on shelves,
Beds and bedsprings creaked and bounced
We loved that house into life.
And it will remember you,
As our only child,
Standing at our graveside in the rain,
Wind at its windows,