Sonnet, Wheel of the Year


Golden streams of liquid light flow thick and hot
through tepid seas forgot within the march
parading on the grounds of time’s remorseless trot
within the life of space.  A shrewd démarche,
a haze lies thick amidst the sullen boughs
weighed down by verdant arms made drunk by shining
light.  A hush befalls the rotting thens and nows,
replaced by buzzing soon-to-bees in holy shrines
resplendent in their colored gowns and smocks.
Dun monks, they wilt defrocked beneath the sparkling
rays descended to give life and thence to walk
with death; before his ephemeral cold and darkness
presses on this life of light.  A Sleep.  A seed
pressed deep into the earth- a molten, flowing mead.

(featured image source)

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