Parting
Your hair disturbs my heart, distressing me
As much as ritual words a demon. Light
Beatifies the strands and makes the sea
In sunshine vague banality. The sight
Of sea waves seems mere repetitious fact.
Your hair recalls the hours of childhood play
When lemon-colored air was like a tract
Of heaven’s days made up of warmth and ray
As tangible as cooling gelatine,
As lemon-colored gelatine the air.
Your hair in light defies a poet’s line
To shimmer with a meaning which might share–
Deserve to share with you–beams
Of notice from the throne where God’s hair gleams.