The wind played with her wound-up hair
and worried it, and wove a snare
with the soft strands-- so fine and fair--
which she had bound up with such care:
tormenting it, like tourists do
a caged animal in a zoo.
It took only a tug or two
of its sharp fingers, carding through
her tresses that shone wire-bright,
for it (her hair) to snap and bite,
to worm out from the ribbons tight
and reach to claw at that wind-wight
who with thin hands of air and cold
had made it wild, mad and bold,
had broke the calm it had of old--
like paper ripped along a fold.
She did not know any of this:
no doubt I was badly remiss
not to mention how the sky's kiss
had pulled apart her high French twist,
but I was so happy to see
her hair untied, untamed, and free,
the tangles stretching hungrily
after that wind, and after me
that all the words I should have said
stuck in my throat like swallowed thread.
Unknowing still, she pulled ahead:
wordless, I let myself be lead.
*
A/N: This works reasonably well when read aloud, although probably only if you have my accent. Otherwise, fairly pointless. But it took me like two hours to write, and reminded me why I prefer free verse. Ahahaha. Haha. Haha.
