Children of Wolves The girls came down in white gloves and floral dresses Doubts half hid or hope that every look confesses Pressed and light and clean And with a paleness none has seen The miles from Devon back to school are long enough The Pines have farms, and Camden boys are pretty rough Boats in quite coves And late White Mountain snows But out in the badlands, shadows are lengthening Coyotes wail, and a snake leaves a trail in sand She takes his hand As she steps to the floor and tries to ignore The hammering of her heart A Monday off: the park is full of flying Frisbees Street vendors, tourists chasing history The packed cafes Couples slow at shop displays And work has stopped on the subway renovation Piles of rubble, pits exposing cracked foundations Siding flares On the temporary stairs Pits like the scars of a bombed-out roadway Warped siding like the walls of a squatter’s shack Walk down the track And you’ll see, where it turns, how the midday sun burns On the new station's curved glass walls Though cities topple, though the sky fill with flames Still, you’ll be in my arms tonight Of all or striving, nothing at last remains So, in the cold and dark, we might as well Attempt to steal a little warmth and light We might … The girls came down in white gloves and floral dresses All our pity, rage, and all of our distresses Sometimes lock in phase And then there dawn strange days But for the rest, our humors take a random walk Spats at home and grousing as we punch the clock We build model trains And launch clean-air campaigns It’s the same balustrade, but the varnish is wearing through Same rug and sideboard, the curtains sill half drawn … But the girls are gone Child of wolves, honed and scarred I step out into the yard Under skies of the clearest blue.