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spiderweb silk glistening grey

old gold now white

single threads once growing

from my head, I said

I find them everywhere

they should not be


speaking of they

they say say we all lose

one hundred hairs

per day day day

so if one does the math

in twenty four hours


one third asleep but still

losing, found in the morning

or mid night tickled

is six every hour minimum

you, like me, like other

sisters, brothers, mothers


might be tempted to

collect and count if only

to nap catlike, unconcerned

by two hanging off the edge

of the kitchen table, three

on a purple velvet pillow, six


swirling down the back of

a thin black shawl or ten

caught by a bored Boston fern

that being only halfway through

one morning's cup of coffee

not even caffeinated

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