whether or not
you can grasp
the weight of my winter coat's
lining
my hob-nailed boots
carry me high with even steps
and that the stairwell's dim turns
filter enough light through the railing
that in the sack
in which we carry coal
for all our rages
whether or not the darkening thread
unwinds in your hand
before we find the right tone
to rend our present and
burst through