THE COMING OF WINTER
The poet wears a coat
made of old knives
which he must be continually
cleaning and sharpening
The priest wears
a coat sewn in darkness
It has twelve pockets
which he searches again and again
for a newly minted coin
The drunk wears a coat
made of stale cake
But it is his cake and
no one can take it from him
The sailor departing
to the desert of the sea
wears a coat made of salt
It gets heavier with each
looking back
The shepherd although it’s cold
wears no coat at all
You can see him
descending from the pass
carrying in his arms
the lamb of snow
Ben Jacques Stories 