HILLTOPS

here we are for one last night

to hold the heavens off

with copses at the ends

of our planet’s curving trough,

stars surrounding bends

at the edges of the eye’s

reflected light,

only wind and river in the sky,

blurred by bursts of growing night,

the way the countryside 

was bathed in moonlit white

so many years ago,

frozen now in icy pearls

to chiaruscuro,

long gone worlds

making here, before we sleep,

cosseted by aspen, star,

and cloud, the endless meadow

of dark matter far

beyond our souvenirs -

childhood, silence, summer sweep

one last minute on the lawn,

before the real world disappears

again at dawn.