Daf had been sitting there staring into space,
could have been hours, could have been days
meditating in the wicker chair, when she turns
to look at me and blinks; could have been an idea,
could have been wind, I’m really not sure, so I ask her
if she’s been wondering what life would be like with long eyelashes –
and she raises her eyes to the sky – like I should have known
she’s been wondering about the hypnotic eyes
of a peacock, and a hen; the hen wondering
what life would be like with long eyelashes.
