The Point of a Fedora
Brandon Cook
The point of this fedora is not that it remain pristine nor come to its afterlife unscathed,
But that it be dirtied and splayed and frayed at every edge
In testament to how well the light played upon it, and the rain which deigned to fall upon it
Slowly, reality teaches me:
I will wear this hat for hiking, and when the feather breaks free
(Since all things break and cease to be),
It will be an epistle to the land, and to the law that we keep nothing
Except the air we breathed and the ground we chose to stand on
And the hearts that beat next to ours, as we looked on at the bright, pink morning
And the moon rising unrivaled above the bare branches,
Our breath freezing above warm bodies, fully in the moment's gift,
As we climbed the tall woods
As we hiked the humble mountain
And knew that emptiness which becomes full with the weight of all things
Somehow carried within us so easily
Like the green in spring