What can I hold you with?

I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the jagged suburbs.I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living men have honoured in marble: my father's father killed in the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs, bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a cow;