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Skins


In the winter -- the wool.   Plush collar close around my neck
Black muffs around my wrists. The wind tugs fabric
away from my ankles, fishhooks of ice pierce my jeans.

In the spring –the rain. Lined, but the damp embraces
my arms, burrows through my legs.

In the summer –cotton.  Smell of salt, roses, and Arbutus.
Seashells in my pockets, sand in my hair.

In the fall—leather. Slowly warmed by skin, weighed
By wood smoke and apples.

For every turning I have a skin.
For you I deny the seasons, lay my flesh at your feet.
Hide it beneath the fireplace; let me watch you from the ashes
I have no wish to return to the sea.


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