Hey, summer solstice,
almost winter solstice here.
We call across an overlapping ribbon
to one another. No echo. No stanza.
No station necessary
in this endless ride. Everything
so perfectly compacted into
longest day shortest night longest night shortest day
stretching every fiber, nerve, strand.
Here we are two specks of gold
glitter stuck to a loop. A pattern
on an ancient sea turtle’s shell. Left earlobe
of a giant with wine-flavored tattoos.
We can’t take our eyes off the horizon
till the inner ear balances. Till vertigo
becomes the rippled gown of Veritas.
We are so broken into imperfect shards
of stained glass, so beyond trick photography
in this crazy 8 ball shaken down world.

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