Eyes Shut and Golden

I close my eyes
and midsummer melts,
burnishes skin with liquid gold,
warming bones
bullied brittle by an unforgiving
winter and a late spring.

Sunlight, sticky as yolk
from a cracked egg,
trickles down my neck,
runs its fingers over my back,
velveting vertebrae on its way
on the first true summer day

so bright my eyes won’t open –
but the view is golden.