1.13.2014 Phoenix

I found one of your
long hairs attached
to my jacket six months
after the fact 
after having gone on
fused to my own knees
carrying this sad
head from place
to place, helpless as it
spoke of wingless
birds, towers with no
doors, smoldering plane
tickets, fires that give
off blind light.
I resent nothing
so I  thought, not even
the rabid dog of my heart.
But this hair
yes, I resent it, here
in my future where
it has no right 
and yet I lift it
not the woodstove
or wastebasket
but the window
and then sleep perchance
dream of a bird 
lining its nest
in gold maybe or
lining  it in fire.