One Strand

One strand of her hair is all I’ve left.
It was on my sweater
Where she’d lain her head
The head that loved me
Thought of me
And considered me
In ways no other woman could
Or would.

One strand of her hair
Among the tens of thousands
That shimmered in the sun
Gleamed by candle
And through which
My fingers ran
Sifting out a wisp of glory.

But now I have one.

Better one strand of her hair
Than the entire body of another.

I have secreted my single strand of her hair
In the workings of a clock
Where it rests among the processes of time
Marking each second with a tick
As we grow further and further apart.

But the clock also measures that indeterminate
Length of time
Between the present
And the moment I hold her again.

On that day, I will entwine the single strand of her hair
With her many sisters
That they may reacquaint
And share the story of our long separation
And that time we rejoin on the plaines
Of timelessness.