Pashmina

They hung folded on hooks
King Street cashmere skins
You took a one down; your hair you said
golden pashmina, warm in the sun.

You wrapped it around me.

I kept it golden for you, though you
put more grey there than gold.
You said I let myself go. You went instead.
The pashmina drapes your side of the bed now

The only warmth in it.