Elegy for Hair

 

Between houses appears your unmistakable

hair, the hair of a wild man, wilderness

clothed in cottons. We warm

each other and warn the seasons

of their attributes. The winter steals

the softness from our elbows and you,

browned soldier, are older than

the weatherman predicts, more full

of starch, your heels unpeeling. Hot

beet skins stain a paper bag.