Funeral clothes were still lying draped,
dark and liquid on the bed – at hand, when you died.
But now I’m wearing you. Like a bear-skin coat
that’s musty and warm and weighs on my arm
when I reach for my guitar, hampers my chest
when I move too fast, brushes my face,
like a lion’s mane. Your fur-lined cap
is all round my head, keeping out cold;
your heart on my sleeve. I shrug on your jacket
when I leave, pressing in to its suede,
rough, ready, Davy Crockett caramel.
I can’t take you off and you will never wear out.
Only ride on my shoulders, borne forever in my mind.
For all I owe you, for all you are, this is enough.