Lint in the lining
And a coin out of date
Receipt from the station — still keeping the weight
Plums in the paper, going soft where they bruise
I carry a climate
I didn’t choose
Clouds in the shop glass at quarter past three
Bus window blooming
Then wiping away
I check the forecast for the town where you live
I check the forecast for the town where you live
Pocket weather — you’re just pocket weather
Tiny climate, quiet riot
In the folds of my sweater
Pocket weather
You’re just pocket weather
Warm front in my palm
That I can’t keep forever
Static in my hair from the hat that you hated
Umbrella ribs catching the sun where it’s faded
Warm rain on concrete, filling the cracks
I don’t reach for the phone when the afternoon lacks
Your particular temper
Your seasonal shift
I walk through the doorway
I don’t test the air
I just walk in
I just walk in
Still check the glass to see who I’m becoming
Still check the glass to see who I’m becoming
Pocket weather — you’re just pocket weather
Tiny climate, quiet riot
In the folds of my sweater
Pocket weather
You’re just pocket weather
Warm front in my palm
That I can’t keep forever
I turn out the lining
I empty the seam
Receipts and old weather fall out of me
It was never my rainfall
It was never my drought
Only your climate
I never shook out
Pocket weather
Just pocket weather
Tiny climate, quiet riot
Slipping out through the leather
Pocket weather
Just pocket weather
Warm front in my palm
Getting light as a feather
I check my own sleeve for the chill and the burn
The pocket stays empty
When the weather returns
It returns
As mine