Tuesday, June 16, 2015

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.