LE CHANTEUSE DE CHEVELURE
To Marcia
A rapier’s skill with scissors
and comb, she sculpts
a feast of heads
under spells of magic.
Her motion dances
toward the sea, turning
a silvery halo of age
into a moment of youth.
The rhythm of her hands
shape and color
secrets of wintry forests
where African drums beat
a fevered song at the end
of a breaking wave,
she recites odes
into ears of seashells,
pirouetting between
dance floors of clouds
and litanies of falling hair.