The Color of Her Hair

The Color of Her Hair

THE COLOR OF HER HAIR

What was the color of her hair, that first time we met

And all the times between.

I remember wildness and disarray and careless abundance

As if blown by gale-force winds.

But was it red, ochroid or gold, the color of golden lion

Or all those combined.

Too, I remember sleek perfumed mass lifting gently in the breeze

Soft to the touch.

Overcome, reverential, I bury my face in and inhale its sweetness

Like new-mown hay or the sweet smell of sphagnum

Or a just-bathed baby’s skin

But what was the color of her hair.