Her Red Duffle Coat

Her red duffle coat,
lies on a hall bench;
the coat is a pile of cloth
without the presence
of her body in the coat.
Her red duffle coat is cold
without her animating
spirit. It is a limp
rag, less each
day without her
wearing the coat
to give it
reason to exist,
to give the coat
a life force
which is love.
The coat’s sleeves
hang by its side,
no embrace
from this red coat;
without her wearing it
it’s an empty shell.
The coat
is a prisoner
of her love, when
she wears the coat
it is not
any coat
but hers.
Oh, close fitting coat,
coat to surrender in,
coat that makes me weep
with loneliness.
Seeing her red duffle coat
I am lonely for her—
I would follow her,
hide behind a wall
to watch her
in her red duffle coat,
a beacon of life,
an affirmation
of love:
when she is gone
the coat and I
are lifeless, distraught
and forgotten.