The enigma of the stranger in front of you on the bus takes on a droll grandeur in this look at everyday infinity
The Back of Your Head
Stranger, I’m looking at the back of your head;
at the heart of the crown
where the whorl starts;
at the touch of skin
like the stars
clustered at the core of a spiral galaxy,
curls whirling out in points of light on dark
to infinity and beyond …