as a sweater-
borrowed. scratchy. wool.
it gets caught up, tangled
on all the other pieces of your life
old patterns are torn, ripped-ragged
a cloak, dripping in cement
it dries out and shrinks
soft belly, left dimpled & hanging-
it moves, the sweater, to your waist
a knot of certainty
tied loosely at your hips-
you learn to leave it
folded neatly in the top dresser draw
but later you find it at the bottom of your hamper-
when you are sure enough time has past
you bend, kneel. pull the sweater to your face,
drink in its musty smells-
for some time.
back & forth
round & round
at last, the darkest of the days will come:
you are unable to remember when you met it last.
the sweater, has vanished-
only then will the scarf arrive-
worn & faded and seemingly out of nowhere
a piece of you will know-
will delight in its softened wool,
in the sureness of its structure.
and even as it changes-
size, shape, direction
as it comes.
as it goes.
wrapped in it;