Birds’ Nests

After the treatment
you started to lose your hair.

Day after day
tufts came away,
baring your ears,
starting your tears.

One day in the garden
you showed me a twist
wound round your wrist
like a band of silver.

You shook the hair into the air;
it floated down
like dawn gossamer,
glinting in the sun.

‘The birds,’ you said,
‘will use it to line their nests.’