His coat speaks the same language
as a thin younger man
walking in cold air
far beyond the black line of trees
wrapped in the lining
of his thin young coat
satin warming his bones
and circling his shoulders
done up to his neck
with that last stiff button
thinking of every mud filled ditch
his angular legs had crossed
childhood stretched like the skin
of a drum over the wound of himself
his father’s judgement still in his ears
pale hands deep in his pockets
raucous flashes of egg thieving crows
mourned his harsh landscape
perhaps it was now he unbuttoned
his coat and invited the blue night in
on a lost horizon a faraway train
rattled uncomprehendingly fast
dragging the future along
there was no turning back
no soft dawn or twinkling lights
carrying a suitcase with nothing inside
he was one step away from us
crumpled, torn in the lining
praying into the emptiness
cursing the dark holed sky.