Of the seasons,
seamless, a garland.
Solstice
to equinox –
days,
measured a cock’s stride
come full circle.
The length of
breath,
a sequential foliage
firmly planted in
our veins,
we stand in our rayed form:
blue-eyed,
a chicory,
Sponsa Solis – & upon the sun appears
a face
also with rays
in descent
through an undulant
blue.
Ronald Johnson (1935 – 1998)
Secret Gardener 