Our Gabardine Lives

I know that some days you wake to a sonnet,
Wreathed in a gahnite sky that just keeps on falling.
You look to the clouds for a word of truth
And find that it’s breathless from loneliness, too.
Our lives are all sewn from the same cotton thread.
Harsh and coarse as the day that we all said
That, “Nothing else grown is nothing else lost,
And nothing else given is nothing else cost.”
But if nothing else comes, then just close your eyes
Then let my heart speak, and then realize
That when the clouds breath, you’ll see me by your side
Through our gabardine lives.
Through our gabardine lives.
I know that these days, the sonnet seems overbearing.
A rondeau brimmed with dissonance; echoing, betraying.
You search its crystal, green reflection for just a shred of proof,
That the cloak that covers us all is partly made of you.
Its thread engulfs all the world, mine and yours.
Though we fear its ensnarement, fear should be in our words.
That, “Nothing else travelled, is nothing else worn,
And nothing else loved is nothing else gone.”
But if nothing else comes, then just close your eyes
Then let my heart speak, and then realize
That when the clouds breath, you’ll see me by your side
Through our gabardine lives.
Through our gabardine lives.