Out of Season

I pushed the winter coats aside to find the wool

that hasn't seen the light since you walked out.

The weight of it is heavy, a sudden pull

back to a hallway filled with frantic doubt.

I put my face against the rough, dark weave

and caught the ghost of how we used to be.

A cedar chest, the cloves you'd never leave,

and a hint of skin that once belonged to me.

There’s a single copper hair caught in the thread,

a wire of light from a head I used to hold.

It’s better to leave the closet things for dead

than to stand here shivering in the stale and cold.