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.)