Dream Time

Like an ancient priestess
I cover us all
in violet pigment.

The color
is different on each of us,
not achieving
the craved-for sameness.
The pre-school purple
does not hide
who each of us
has become.

I paint with larger and larger brushes
but our hair,
grows in unexpected places,
and refuses to be covered.

I turn and notice a family--
A baby, two children
and a father with a beard.

Their hair is the color of an erupting volcano—
a dancing flame alive in the light.

They are breathtakingly united
yet strikingly unique

and I stare, marveling

that such a thing

is possible.