Now it hangs on the back of
the kitchen chair
where I always sit, as it did
on the back of the kitchen
chair where he always sat.
I put it on whenever I come
in,
as he did, stamping
the snow from his boots.
I put it on and sit in the
dark.
He would not have done this.
Coldness comes paring down
from the moonbone in the sky.
His laws were a secret.
But I remember the moment at
which I knew
he was going mad inside his
laws.
He was standing at the turn
of the driveway when I arrived.
He had on the blue cardigan
with the buttons done up all the way to the top.
Not only because it was a hot
July afternoon
but the look on his face --
as a small child who has been
dressed by some aunt early in the morning
for a long trip
on cold trains and windy
platforms
will sit very straight at the
edge of his seat
while the shadows like long
fingers
over the haystacks that sweep
past
keep shocking him
because he is riding
backwards.
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