The Poet’s Coat

I wear a poet’s coat,
a great black coat
pulled tight around my body:
the arms are long,
the material rough woven.
The coat gives warmth
and casts a shadow
between two cities,
two countries, two people:
an eclipse of words and memory.

I ride my great black
horse in this coat;
I walk my half wild
dog in this coat;
I drink too much,
eat too much,
say too much,
and when I try to swim
in this coat
I am pulled to the bottom
of the Sargasso Sea.

Oh, come and try on
my great coat of shadows,
my coat without money in its pockets,
my poet’s coat I will wear one day
in my six foot grave
not far from here.