Poem for the Winter Solstice
you raise the east window blinds
is the sun, hunched on the horizon,
best to break free, shunting aside
clouds as it hoists itself in readiness to skate
rink of sky, firing that cloud layer
deceptive warmth, an intense roseate glow.
morning, you say to yourself,
you realize — and it comes as a shock —
sun has risen so far south, you feel
has been wrenched a quarter-twist
right while you slept. You check your watch —
coming nine o’clock.
calendar tells you it’s December,
something deep within you has clung
lingering warmth of snowless autumn.
deplores this retreat towards the dark,
days, the physical affront of cold.
unseen crevices within us are busy
the spirit for spring.