Billy's Hair

Nearing dawn,
Billy wrote and lost his hair
to the moonlight and the dew.

Weightless spheres of words
danced and leapt in bliss
in starlit mining underground,
golds and golds away from time.
A furrow formed a greenless valley
between two puffs of mane
sanely holding on
with purple fingertips.

Gleaners, ghosts
bent in mounds,
ears to ground to hear grains speak
and feel soft spirits winding through-
unabashed and not foreseen.