Hair

An extension of myself, reaching out from the top of my brain, over wheat grain fields, over a thumping, throbbing tree at the center of me,

Over closed windows that can only try to imitate the colors by reflecting (this is where I find some reserve), over two flesh mountains that swoop toward heaven, over two bags of stars (only the dead ones, because they need a place to reside), over a large sack of flour to make many beautiful loaves of bread to be broken and shared, swings on me,

Over a sunflower so ready to bloom (Oh! The Anticipation!) and burst and welt! Over two logs and wiggling black beetles, and over the boulders on which I stand planted.

Over all these things is the expression and confirmation of existing as a self. It is separate and sacred, and yet it is me... An extension of me. Sometimes my whole body stands at attention to revel in fright or excitement. And even fright is glorious.