Sunday, November 14, 2010

Moth Wing Postcard

Claim this cloak
of moth wings and damp
fallen leaves.

I’m the man
become suddenly old, the man
who shivers

and stands at the curb.
I have cast aside
all cloaks. Finger by finger

I have taken off
my gloves.
Tell me what

to ask
of the harsh realm
of winter.

I give my checkered wool cap to the wind.

(I wrote the first version of this a few years back.)

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