I lost a glove
and kept the other,
my life on hold
through snow and storm,
one hand cold,
the other warm.

I lost a glove
and while the other
hung on to me
for all I’m worth,
the first roamed free
over the earth.

I lost a glove
and found another,
another sheath,
a shade of leather
that seemed to breathe
a different weather.

I lost a glove
and it found other
flesh to clad,
crimes to commit,
although I had
no hand in it.

I lost a glove
and, sad, the other
at the breach
would try to clap
but couldn’t reach
across that gap.

I lost a glove
then lost the other.
I’d no more forms
that could withhold
the snows, the storms,
the perishing cold.