sea curls

The eddies and whorls and twists
and curls of your sea-drenched hair
have dried in the sun

into mobile sculpture,
wildly

and loosely hung.

Movingly
framing your angel face:
a reverse-night sky,
where constellations of freckles
twinkle
upon a cool veil
of milk.
I could take
forever and gaze
for days,
counting all of them,
and I'd wish on every one.

But instead
just now, I'll breathe in -

take your hair up into my hands,
and breathe through it.

You have caught all the sun,
and the salt and spray
and you,

in your net.

And it would take
a skyful of stars, and a lifetime
of nights to wish
for all of the sun,

and salt
and spray,
and you,

to fill
all the days
you want to come.