Bend your head, I say to the child
who steps out of the bath,
so I can rub this film of oil
on your nape. And as she does,
her long dark hair falls down;
and in it is the dusk of leaves
from the resinous woods;
and sunlight’s indelible
musk in the softest
spot of the crown.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Oh, I love this one.