Silver Dust

The cape, a slick black sheet,

then the cold kiss of steel.

A tiny pluck,

at the nape of my neck,

something sharp, precise.

I saw them fall,

on the plastic, stark against the dark.

A few thin hairs,

not brown, not gray,

but startling silver.

Like fine wire, glinting.

He brushed them off,

casually, a sweep of his hand.

Just debris.

But they held the light,

a brief, bright signal,

there and then gone.