A Strand

Copper crown
half floating upon eyes

longing

descending

from steel steps

drifting to emerge

as a strand in the mess of a hair

of this distant population

rushing on concrete,

have me hoping

to pluck you

from such wild tresses

and keep you

a sample of yearning

or maybe

wish for the winds

to blow you to me

and together we shall

descend and drift away

and wake up in mornings
where we've no need for combs.