For a season a year,
four seasons every year
There are four layers
for the one surface to turn up to
and turn over,
It gets through each one
one year at a time,
four times a year.
The surface, as always,
Time of the year
And makes its way back up to itself;
It comes up with a layer after layer pull-down
Of a carefully put together
Brought down unwrapped from the distance of a total sun.
The surface comes down all the way round
And another is counted
Right where the previous one had been left.
The root is the only thing to experience everything.