When she arched her back

and raised her half-clasped hands to the sky,

I thought her fingertips

might tickle the sun.

And what with the way her face shone,

I thought if only I had a camera

to snap a shot

to carry in my breast pocket

always,

I would never ask for anything more.

But when a breeze broke her pose,

and she lowered her arms

and hugged her elbows,

what I wished I had

was a cotton jacket

to drape

(gently now!)

 over her shoulders.

Just her shoulders.

The goosebumps on her arms

I could rub smooth

myself.

Here, there, and everywhere . . . pretty faces.