Musings

At fifty I’ve decided to let my hair grow 
free and wild, no longer tamed 
by society’s standards, uncolored 
and uncut to my hips, 

Look up, I said, my face turning
toward an eagle floating
against a backdrop of blue.

Look in, he said.

Last night I dreamt of a cicada 
overturned on folded wings, 
no movement, near death.

Earth Songs: Spring