As I combed it,
he sat cross-legged
in front of me
bent over
like a penitent,
his head heavy
as intimacy.
An easy gesture,
like wind riffling
blue dunegrass
in tidal weather.
Salt and pepper
at the temples,
or more accurately
silver, perilous
and stellar.
A wave in it,
long from lack
of cutting.
How can I go back
to knowing nothing,
knowing this?

Sarah Holland-Batt

Sarah Holland-Batt is author of The Hazards (2015) and editor of The Best Australian Poems 2016. She is Poet of the Month.