To an Unknown Woman
I delight in the back of your head.
I delight in your forest of hair that tumbles
Down from its peak,
Thins, and
Dies
On the foothills of your shoulders.
You turn and look at me.
Again, I delight in your hair
As it flies off those foothills, drifts,
And settles softly
Like willow branches after a storm.
Three impressions linger:
The silhouettes of your smooth cheeks
The range of your eyes
And the nature of our inverted intimacy –
I always look away.
