Your Hand full of Hours, you came to me and I said:
Your Hair is not brown.
So you lifted it, lightly, onto the Balance of Grief, it was
Heavier than I
They come to you on Ships, make it their load, then place it
on sale in the Markets of Lust
You smile at me from the Depths, I weep at you from the
Scale thats still light.
I weep: Your hair is not brown, they offer Salt-Waves of the
Sea, and you give them spume.
You whisper: Theyre filling the World with me now, and for you
Im still a Hollow-Way in the Heart!
You say: Lay the Leaf-Work of Years beside you, its Time that you
came here and kissed me!
The Leaf-Work of Years is brown: your Hair is not brown.
