A Sonnet for Solstice [poem]

The shortest day approaches: this our home
conducts its blue dot pivot by the sun.
The cosmos wheels aloof across the dome;
beneath the sky a human year is done.

A bleak mid-winter beckons through the gloom
and metaphors of loss come clear to mind;
in fading light the ancient demons loom
and promisory notes remain unsigned.

But sunlight - even low - bedazzles sight
and other senses too are prone to flood:
the scent of cloves; the weight of cats at night;
the sound of peaceful sleep, of pumping blood.

So pivot! and amid the winter storm
allow each ray of joy to keep you warm.


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