spiderweb silk glistening grey
old gold now white
single threads once growing
from my head, I said
I find them everywhere
they should not be
speaking of they
they say say we all lose
one hundred hairs
per day day day
so if one does the math
in twenty four hours
one third asleep but still
losing, found in the morning
or mid night tickled
is six every hour minimum
you, like me, like other
sisters, brothers, mothers
might be tempted to
collect and count if only
to nap catlike, unconcerned
by two hanging off the edge
of the kitchen table, three
on a purple velvet pillow, six
swirling down the back of
a thin black shawl or ten
caught by a bored Boston fern
that being only halfway through
one morning's cup of coffee
not even caffeinated