We stand like a Wordsworthian host
of golden sundials; with
deepest brown at our epicentre;
heads exalting the all seeing saffron eye
of the one burning with radiant desire,
to envelop Tuscany fields in its searing heat.
Mesmerised; in the grip of continuous rays
we are hypnotised, unable to break, till the eye
closes, in a spreading sunset of deepening sleep
and the guardian of the night, bathes us in a
cool and spirited illumination of softness.
Collectively; we sigh and lower our heads
a little; resting on towering green stems,
until the eye blinks away sleep at sunrise