You can pull nails, But a hole is made, And for every hole a haunt Of memory Where the voids Left too small A space to slip Through my Recall, the Pieces pulled From my door, Or forget the holes And nails it once bore You can pull nails, But the holes are made A haunting of memory, Of my mother who always Spoke to me In similes Of my father's hand, And the nails it drove Can we go back To the way it was once Can we completely mend Or go back to once was Before I met you Can we go back To the way it was once? I'd reclaim all those Pieces from the door I held Before I met you.