You stood on my doorstep one night
asking for shelter in another language,
but the weather was fine.
I found some wine while you got out of your wet coat
and all your other clothes that were soaked as well.
But the weather was dry. The water was salt.
Layer by layer, wool from the Shetland islands,
a linen shirt that was made in Italy,
and a scarf you claimed a woman in Greece had knitted.
I could sense her scent, spicy and sweet.
I took you into my bed and warmed you
for days with my body.
You never told me the name of your ship
but left your coat when you went.
It never dried up all together.