circlet tender_square each filament of shed hair seeks coupling, and i can’t blame what leaves my body when i want more than what i’m given. mom says i’m a low-maintenance woman, not a no-maintenance woman. i buy myself bouquets; sunlight reveals a strand in spokes of verbena. i unravel its grip, a scarf slipping from an elegant neck. to collect each thread, lengths of time strayed from scalp, and sew a hemline of horizon. to wrap fiber around finger; ring of constancy, solemn oath of natural progression. this tourniquet stems the loss inherited through living. 220218 what's it to you? who go blather from