The wind doesn’t do this. I repeat, the wind does not do this.

Grandmothers armor To protect from spatter and sputter. I’ll shield you From the overflowing gutter.

In pocket I dwell with treasures in tow, a jangling bunch wherever you go. I gather the doors to open with ease, a keeper of secrets and jingling keys.

The ultimate curtain call, where silence is the loudest sound, and time no longer ticks. A journey's end with no return ticket, where all paths converge.

Not cloth, but flesh, I rise and fall, and veil the gaze that sees it all.