MARIANNE We are lost – or found – in this meditation centre: are the oval around the crystal – around purple for Advent, or Lent. The frailest in the ellipse is Marianne, the potter – who endures tumours on her liver: whose eyes have become much more luminous than any quartz.  She is dressed in contemplative blues. I imagine the unchosen cells – orbited by a blue and white fizzy light.  To the owner, death seems as youthful as her grandchild: it is the crony in the valley…. Distance is irrelevant: signs and destinations are at once very far – and very near. From outer space, Great-Grandmother Earth can only be partially seen.  She remains, in her bubble of blue and white, mostly benign – despite the violation, the neglect, which make her contract inwardly; or expand in the wrong places.  Copyright  JENNY JOHNSON