Words & Music by Mike Power

I found a hair on a book she read and knew it must be hers
Long and blonde with just a couple of curls
I thought I had lost it to the breeze when I saw it again
Clinging to the condensation on the side of a beer bottle

That temporary ornamental covering of her scalp
Grew like the leaves that sprout in spring on a mountainside
To hide the rocky winter dirt

Like evidence from the scene of a crime
Its speech small but elegant and irrefutable
A reminder – if one was needed – of impossibility

Imagine, once, that this loose strand
Was tucked behind her ear
Or twirled during a conversation
Yanked in frustration or in passion
Trimmed by an expert blade
Remnant of a thing alive
With no life of its own