song of sea-leaves in an orchestra of foam
branches of violins sprayed across the mind
what is magnetic in a wave breaking white
drawing the chords of evening to a single sound

i would liken your hair to a slow movement
of seagulls in the wind catching my eye
by sheer virtue of design - i could nest there
as naturally as the anemones nest in the sea

in a promontory of thought i might mistake
the sea-air for a hand brushing my face
for the breeze i think is not so fleshless
nor your fingers so earthy as the rose

and then like an expansion in the blood
sometimes in the restless reflections of the boat
leaning in company across the rail i feel
another sea coming in at the elbows of your coat