You took your suitcase with you when I told you goodbye, and I think now of how much we argued over how it had never been unpacked.
You wore the same skin from that autumn night on my birthday, till the last breaths of winter had passed from my bedroom.
What do your garments look like?
Even as you are, you're forever changing in my eyes and that is my gift to you: my clothes, fresh from a calm wind on that drooping line and ironed by the sun.