Grant isn’t great at cutting hair, but he is gentle.  
I sit down and let him do what he wants. The light  
In March is white and cold, and Luca and Gianni are  
Waiting their turns, shirtless and shivering, we try to be men  
Among men. At first, Grant steers my head tentatively, 
Using his fingertips to guide me, now look up, 
Now tilt, close your eyes, lean. I’m going to the skin, right?  
He asks, and then braces against me fully, his palm cradling  
My jaw, running the buzzer in broad, confident bands 
Over my temples, around my ears, and down the back. 
I press into the warmth like a straining vine, 
Braiding itself towards the sun. After finishing,  
He leans in close from behind and blows hair off  
The nape of my neck with three cool, hard mouthfuls.