Lake Bed Refractions

Others think my hair wild, untamed, needing a coif when all about me the wind rustles through the fallen leaves… red on gold, stamped brown, ethereal... substance once there, gone like soup cooked for hours to fight the chill, tang of parsnip… that’s the visible crop, bushy froth while beneath soil, fight the war for a strand or lock or two of my being... heart untied from children hands freed to tap or zizzle a bow across strings what a jumble it all is after the clean prepped pampered soul is emptied scraped down to metal my hair unwound into myself swelling as if a clogged pore and I’m wondering... is there is any who know how I look undressed.