hair

Who makes the earth smell like rain?

I make it . . . I make

Thresholds and gaunt shadows glow and sting like sulphur,

Who in turn, preludes the cycle from which I become?

Me and the washing of my head continuous its bath.

The sun outside took its afternoon nap

The sky is like my grandfather’s hair and I

Make the earth smell like rain.  I, who,

Prefers daydreams over shampoo.