Having slithered
around subterranean bones
Litha rises
from between grass blades
veiny roots    clay and loam.

Daisies greet her     gather
on her head  

blue jay perches on her fingers
speaking his squawking
flapping language     impatient
for acorns and beetles  

sun    a distant but sultry
lamp     awaits her pleasure  

until evening
when fireflies     silent
capricious globes
light her way
across the darkest fields.  

With bark for skin
sap for blood
rock for bone
she traipses across moss
bee balm     goldenrod     thistle
and listens for autumn’s
windy moan.  

Until then
she sates herself
on blackberry clusters     robin whistles
musty aroma of damp trees     leaves that flash
and shush in wind    cool raindrops
that leave ground
steamy in sun’s rays.    

~inspired by A. J. Masthay’s art piece “Litha”