6 - For a Friend in Storms

And in the grips of it,
toss out hope in banknotes, blow
crushed paper lists from windows
Go, say to kept things
From the pockets’ hold
your hands
retreat to keep from losing

Loose, cupped folds of linen
slings for broken limbs;
despoiled of trinkets lift
the yoke of grips on things.
Night begins asleep in hammock’s hold.

Don’t fear the emptying of pockets where you kept yourself;
you are the weave and safety of this vacant haven.