One of your hairs fell out last night:

A piece of your life was gone without a sound.

I know a difficult day is coming,

My heart, pierced, utters a quiet cry.

Let my childhood smile againin the sun

And turn me into an innocent little headlouse

So I can crawl through the jungle of your hair

And sing a song of darkness in its fragrance.

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Under your fingernail-roof Ill sleep in my house;

In my black dream Ill water your black trees.

Ill pick black fruits, and hair-jungle bees

Will bring me black poems to be opened.

How will I live, without your hair?

How will I breathe, without its fragrance?

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How will I survive, when I am discovered

By ghosts of wooden combs combing your hair?

Let me wear shows made of dawn-flowers

And crawl without a sound into your sleep.

Ill take the place of the hair thats gone

And sing of hair-clouds flying from night to day.