Your eyes and the valley are memories. 
Your eyes fire and the valley a bowl. 
It was here a moonrise crept over the timberline. 
It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down. 
And your eyes and the moon swept the valley. 

I will see you again to-morrow. 
I will see you again in a million years. 
I will never know your dark eyes again. 
These are three ghosts I keep. 
These are three sumach-red dogs I run with. 

All of it wraps and knots to a riddle: 
I have the moon, the timberline, and you. 
All three are gone -- and I keep all three.