The Hair of an Old Man
In the
dream I
gradually notice
that I’m
getting younger.
But the
face itself
is not
mine.
It’s the
face of
an alternative
younger me,
someone I
could have
been.
What I’m
mostly taken
with is
the hair.
The hair
is thick &
rich &
pitch black.
I’m in
my house
in the
dream &
there’s a
woman
with me.
I bring
her into
the bathroom
to look
into the
mirror over
the sink.
I want
verification.
I don’t
mention the
new face,
I concentrate
on the
hair.
“Look,”
I say.
“My hair
has turned
black again.”
“It’s the
mirror,”
she says,
& tilts
my head
so that
the hair
in the
mirror
turns gray,
the hair
of an
old man.
