Equinox

Summer’s ends are split, like hair,
we grow together at the crown
and part down the middle
growing side-by-side

untangled by the teeth of combs
and a spritz of hydration

and Autumn’s roots show darker
than the sun-bleached, chlorinated
strands of you and I.
Light and dark.
Sun and moon.
Yin and Yang.

Then it grows,
becomes you and I,
like an equinox: day and night
of near equal length, layered

a tilt not towards or away
from the sun
but then the angle grows, like hair,

I wish we could cut
—and grow again.