The Wandering Waistcoat

There is a waistcoat in the wood
I've seen it out on winter nights
As if unsure which way to go
Such a garment ought to know
But falters in the light

Red amongst the birch bones
Red against the snow
Gold leaf motif like rising heat
Gold clasps wink in a row

The snow is hard in winter's snap
The scratch of ice and leaves
Rasp along the forest's floor
The waistcoat seems to find a door
And part it with its sleeves

Does it vanish on its way
Does it send down roots
If morning breaks will it dissolve
Or will it bring forth shoots

The blue dark quiets every warmth
Except this tailored flame
A dandy of a will-o-wisp
Away to nowhere pressed and crisp
Abroad to seek its name

Will a trunk round out the breast
Will limbs lift up the sleeves
A crown upon the collar crest
A breath disturb the leaves