Understanding My Hands

Though it be summer and kind wind, 'I cool. Buttercups under your chin, still 'dear, are yellow, around your neck, my fingers have broached, whereof have fluttered often, your lips, 'I keep sealed. Hidden my expressions, merry dimpled cheeks I wander, as your eyes look around, wide open. Two fold is the mind from which I see, you are there? Leaning against it/mine, you are never talking, I listen to your heart, with my fingers in your ears. Even there, high upon the pole, sits that green nest and even when one comes, one osprey leaving watches but for the coming of the rain and riding above it and like the damp earth it softens, until it becomes. Never hungry, fast asleep understanding my hands.