I spent a year
in Mrs. Watson’s class
gazing at the back of your head

Sometimes your hair would
cascade across your shoulders
other times it would be tied
up in a pony tail

The best times were
when your hair revealed
the nape of your neck

Then I could trace
the delicate curve
from below your ear
to the top of your shoulder

Or imagine how your
faint rosy moles connected
to form your personal
constellation

I spent a year
waiting for you to turn around
but you never did

I never saw your face
and you never saw me