One cut and the hair worn since childhood
fell upon the floor
her new, bald skull
She belonged to heather
and in tail-streams
in the small, green pulse of life
at the dark centre of reunions, separations,
starved of air.
This was a protest of love, against love
sun, rain, wilderness.
From a finger, she slid a band
placed it underfoot,
until the stone
made the sound of a gold chestnut