Robert Ostrom
Man in an Ayrshire Coat

My brother caught four hundred ravens
And drowned them in the sea. I used to have
Affectations: a hairpin, swan, a suit.
They became gestures: cold earth, eighteen
Early Novembers. Brown hills and leather
Wrapped tightly around me. I am poor.
I know a dialect of trick. People call me
Sir. Derision follows me.