Button Up

by Laura Close

A year from now, maybe I will
button up. I will take a vow of silence

before the weather turns bitter.
               I will ask the vicar.

October is sometimes cold enough
to ask for a row of buttons or for

old overcoats to recreate recycled
notions from old coats’ buttons;

as for the fine fabric itself I cannot
recycle it; I don’t know how; I seek out

electric sheep and a row of quiet dreams.