Because of the scratchy
necked wool sewn
down by a mother,
enveloping lamb
lined with satin
like love on water
for skittering clouds,
grassy slopes, dog
barkers. Because that’s
when they’re on
sail like boats
this glimmer lake
unlike fourteen
winters in L.A.
didn’t convince
the body, its longing
in bones for
warmth and wind.
Because to remember
geese bob through
wakes, and wine, and
loons driving south
in fall. Because she’d
purchased machine
on which many
coats of colors were
sewn circling seasons.
But houses drafty,
for walks in town
where coffee gurgles
wistful it enters.
Friends say Yes!
Spend the money!
And how can she
alter? So credit card
crackles, it’s only
August, and on sale
and sweetness,
and wood floors,
and thank you.