Our star was setting in the western sky
and a mist was rising from the fields.
All the clouds were billowing up,
like a sacred room around us,
and the air had a peachy-pink tint.
Perfume drifted from somewhere,
soft and sweet as a summer breeze.
Our companion star was rising,
the way it does
when time seems to briefly freeze.
I remember your eyes,
the purple of Canterbury Bells,
warm as a welcome, long desired.
What did I see in those purple eyes?
It’s been a while, making it hard to recall,
though I am haunted
by amethyst skies.