Huh.
On my walk home,
Hair appears.
Like the moon in an afternoon sky,
I feel her before I look up and see her.
On Cammy in profile.
Her all-knowing amber eye,
Coal-lined.
Her haunches are like a woman's.
She doesn't have time for despair.
With larger heart chambers than any other wild creature.
In folklore,
Hair is their protector.
She belongs to the old stories that stoke the fire and bless the hearth.
On a bigger arc than our lives will witness beyond faith.
Deep space,
The witch's broom nebula,
Where wise women go for a brew and always will.
Is the unchanging.
Where nothing can stop.
The final word being love.