I dress myself in your linens

A Vestal virgin mid service

Amidst a redolent anamnesis

I hold out every covenant

The tapestry moth-eaten

Despite amaranthine care


I trace each abrasion lovingly

As though defect held

An incantation

That when whispered

Would resolve all distinction

Between my life and your departure


I think I’ll take the shears

And cut strips for my journal

The faded prints will look beautiful

Pressed inside your love letters