I wake up adorned in the raiment of grief

An old coat finishes the ensemble

Patched and threadbare in all of the usual places

The pockets often seem full

with memories and images of the ones I’ve lost

My familiar acquaintance, regret, is usually there too,

avoiding the holes in the fabric time tries to put there

Despite appearances to the contrary,

the coat has been very well made

by all of the tailors no longer here