(on being color-analyzed with Judy)

I knew it. There was always
something about us
high-toned and full.
Fall? We've done that all right.
Winter? You ski a week each year;
I once rode a ski lift in July.
Spring? Sister, are we sprung?
Yes, summer becomes us.
My, how we bloom!
Rosy cheeks, rosy lips, rosy eyes:
we're Essence of Rosy.
We're fireflies--lightnin' bugs
in Texas. We glow
now here now there
sending off signals
that mystify all around,
even ourselves.
And though we're shot through
with summer lightning
coming out of what
we thought was a
hot blue cloudless sky,
still we're cotton, blackberries,
pickles, sunflowers,
Johnson grass.
Let's face it:
there's something
coming back around in us,
a perennial buzz
a persistent yes.
Summer sister,
we're good and ripe.

From The Wonder Is: New and Selected Poems 1974-2004 (Panther Creek Press).
Used with the author's permission.