What Becomes Of Us

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 even 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