Baby Hair

I pull on my jeans
and opening the shades,
I spy the tiny tin box
trapped between the sill and the open air
a brittle shell necklace within
withered velvet
surrounding your memories
hard and crystalline
a salty treasure box
the key deep
the puzzle beneath
the floorboards
the oblivious mice
nibbling at your store.
Bzzzzzzzzzzing and Bzzzzzzzzzing
then I find you
full of grace
before the mirror
golden down
and all around
your back is slack and taut and brown
your silken hair
is as it was
it always was
this confusion
this softness
this halo
of glinting coins
flung,
surrendered
about the sunken blue ships
of your eyes.