[image: Blue-violet solar spectrum by Dean Armstrong]
by Jeanne Desy
The valiance of the warrior rising the eighth time.
Seven falls, seven wounds, seven defeats,
but not dis-couraged. Walking on a bum leg,
his sword polished by blood and the dust
of battle. Himself compact muscle, his robe
perfectly arranged. He stops on the mountain path
to admire Basho's violet, remembers the line -
Somehow it tugs at my heart.