Winged

The night was moody as the inner lining 
of a crow's feathers. It reminded you
it was perhaps time for a haircut.

You rinsed your hair in the sink 

and sat on a deck chair in cold
sunlight. I brought out the fine-
toothed comb and the scissors

and started at the nape. Is a strand

greater than the whole 
because all roots branch 
from there? 

How quiet this shearing. 

In the morning I woke with a rasp
in my throat, Each barb is a feather
within a feather 

with a little shaft of its own