Looking up. (II)

Gold and silver on my hands I peered through the lenses of my eyes

Low on the grass,

Book in the foreground and

A stretch of green blades, all glowing in clarity, just behind

In the periphery (above my lids) the sun breathed gold on my hair
There and then we were,
Lying on the ground, our heads
Touching, our words circling up again, and only while the stars stayed.