Raindrops on golden hair. They are brown spots, little spots Scattered, wind blowing them Left and right, Towards her forehead, smooth Save for two red bumps above The eyebrows. Towards her neck, little hairs Standing, stubbornly, scornfully, A protest against the Rainy chill. These freckles on her crown, they are tiny constellations.
I want to join them up, I want to find Orion, Trace my fingers against Lepus, Understand the lines of Indus, But I can't.