There's no lamp, no Sleepy Hollow
There's no pack of dogs to follow
There's no airflow, there's no inflation
There's no clue, no revelation

No sound of birds, there's no snowfall
There's no crashing waves, there's a seawall
There's no cheek cold from the weather
There's no woolly insulation

And there's a hole in the yard
There's a grave, there's sandy soil
Lowered bodies, lifting feeling
Furry hands, hasty grieving

There's no weight pressing my thighs
There's no response, there's glassy eyes
Woolly mammoths, mighty absence
A tiny void holds flaming mountains

Flaming mountains in the distance
There's no lamp, there's scalding firelight
There's no mask to wear, there's no shield
A hot expanse, the burning field

Rising plumes, animal terror
Fearsome face, honestly fearful
There's one approach, that honest terror
There's no roaring cars, just welling burial