Wild Is Her Hair

Wild Is Her Hair

Wild is her hair as she sits
calmly clenching a seat,
wide shark eyes-
skeleton loving face,
aboard my homeward
bound bus,
surely on her way to
that magical corner.

We all know that stop,
loose change-
hoards of hounds-
searchers of the
damned dark night,
clustered in packs,
shoulder to shoulder
voiceless.

She murmurs a new
language,
could be universal
I reckon,

Nearing now your
forbidden journey's end,
any time soon.

Slowly we stop.

Angel of the night,
you lost your soul
a long time ago,
you raise your empty
shell and step out
into the moonlit night
and amongst your
kindred spirits you dwell.

We continue on.

I wish I knew your story,

Wild hair

                                          spb.