25 292
12 Poems
25
Hair
Your polished racehorse hair
leaves me churning with envy.
Mine, conversely, seems
to heave into acquiescence
and yet, when I look more closely
into the mirror there is a girl;
with sea matted hair
who runs at the tide edge
and makes rafts out of driftwood
with yellow oat grass hair
who lingers with beetles
in the wild moor meadow
with sand gritty desert hair
where the Pleiades shine
and illuminate her dark places
who is beautiful.