This Old Sweater

This old sweater,
White ribbed wool,
Heavy,
With times we’ve spent together,
The patterned puffs ,
And yarn stitched lines,
By myth I’m told.
But tell my friends as true,
Were first used as family signs,
So those Aron sailors
Washed ashore were known.

Its gentle itch next my skin
Welcome to me unlike others
An alive and touching friend
Recalling worn past ways
For love lying rumpled by me on the floor,
For cold wet tear soaked days,
For wind tickled times blowing joy,
For the soft white blazing inside me,
Its thick white cables tied
To memories from the deep.