twin feathers

she wore it down,
sometimes it snaked around,
the shimmer and sheen,
not golden, toasted, as coffee brown,
strands all twisted loosely bound,
but how the beauty she has still spun,
in the setting of today's spent sun,
her fingers splinter the silky web,
like a river flowing unto its ebb,
her hands cast it,
as if it were but a net,
resting atop her shoulders, it so set,
as if she folded it upon chiseled stone,
as she awaits her nightly moon.
as a warrior's headdress,
neatly woven, gently placed,
notice the twin feathers,
how they are donned and laced.