I have this bad habit
of answering the question
you did not ask.
I think it will snow tonight,
silky soft and murmurating
like your bare footfalls
down the sloping strand
to the saltwater fringed
in lacey necklaces of kelp
beads and green-gold leaf.
You are jolie laide like Venus,
brightest star of my morning,
your hair in golden dawn tendrils
spun across turtle dove shoulders,
like Helen, launching my ship
one thousand fold and one times,
your bare toes like Greek soldiers
with painted nails for helmets.