Years later I found a long strand of hair
lightly constricting the fan on my computer.
My brother had been to visit me
so she and I had slept on the floor
beneath my bed.
That breath from the past
was as bright as her hair was in the starlight.
It did not look its age,
as it had not managed to acquire dust.
I now no longer have that computer
or that lock that glowed
like an alchemically twisted harp string,
but I cannot forget that peculiar
freshness which seemed to have resulted
from just recently deciding to be gold.
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