13/52: black suit

After a day like this

you have come home.

You took off your shoes at the door
as if dismounting from your horse.

The house is quiet
the sun has just gone down,
but the last fingers of its light
cushion the kitchen, living room,
stairs up to your bedroom
like an old monastery
or castle.

You slide out of your jacket
and half expect it to hit the floor
with the clang of plate armor.
But it droops from your hands
and then you have it on the hanger.

It is nothing but cloth, after all.