A Poet's Dying Breath
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
In His Jacket
I look at my hand
And for an instant,
It's his.
But then I remember that
I
Am in his jacket,
Not him.
That he was too warm
And I too cold
So we split the difference.
But now,
His jacket hanging on the way out to my car,
I wonder if he's cold.
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