Hair like red smoke. Like haze. Hardly human
Anymore. A shroud of hair. A cloud. An
Obscuring veil between the worlds. A fine
Halo surrounding poetry consigned
To the ages. Hair unkept. Hair unruined.
Hair unrotted. Shiny as albumin,
Bright as blood. Hair spread out in the coffin,
Like her mantle. Tangled intertwined
Hair, like red smoke
Rising and descending, twisting within.
Knotting itself. Pushing the tight wooden
Lid. Convoluting against the confines
Of the earth. Almost undermined
By a manuscript. Buried, dug up– then
Hair like red smoke.