Patrick Phillips
“Work-Clothes Quilt”
Elegy for a Broken Machine
no matter how brown
with his sweat, or stiff with his blisters,
or blooming his roses
of pine sap, and gear grease, and blood—
[…]she stands by the bed
and breathes his last scent,
then wraps herself
in it and sleeps.
And so for day 3164
10.08.2015