I wonder why
Your hair is
Always covered,
But not enough
For me not to see
A part where
The back
Of my fingers
Could gently
Caress as
It curls around
Them like
Mandevilla,
They can
Make themselves
At home,
And grow a
Garden covering
My arms
And protect me
Against the
Sunshine
That tans
And burns
My skin.

Have I lost you,
In the cardinal
winds?

Has it lifted you,
Far from where
We are?