I picked up Ronald Johnson's The Shrubberies as well a couple of months ago and have been equally amazed, and this especially by what I think of as light. Cracking the covers of this book is nearly blinding, though the brilliance is tempered here and there by shadows and darkness. Let's see if I can locate an example, ah!

squirrels chase butterflies
in branched perpendiculars
the bird-baths are full
reflecting piled-up cumulus

a slither of scarlet & black
goldfish snap for crumbs
the sound of Mower himself
all afternoons surround

This book contains innumerable such gems, for as each page does contain a jewel-like poem, finely chiseled, apparently simple yet complex, and this poem sets us up for the kill from the very first line, though it isn't so evident on an initial reading. Even when the "piled-up cumulus arrives," it seems a commonplace detail, familiar as opposed to threatening, though as the poem continues into the concluding stanza with the (wickedly) exquisite opening line, "a slither of scarlet & black," chinks in the idyll of light allow beams of darkness to penetrate, and then we hear the grim reaper himself, buzzing down the street with his Big Lawnmower. So too, as the "goldfish snap for crumbs" (greedily!), I shall be food for the worm. The sounds alone in this poem guarantee it.