Past Winter Solstice

Two days into shrinking
night, photos get touch
screen silently taken
in the clouds. Who visits

the creation museum? A myth
is born. A 25-year-old

portrait painting comes alive
in a child’s arms. This rip
in the canvas
is an evolution.


A lull toward late
fall, messages arrive
scrambled. Those born
on the light shrinking side

of winter solstice
carry an extra
burden. We must generate
an expanding light

from within. And it just might
illuminate the shoreline
for those of us now walking
the boards in the afterlife.

Traffic Calmer

This solstice is
a cul-de-sac.

I don’t mind losing
my way—no longer ten
miles north of Boston
wondering how houses
and whole streets
can disappear. It only gets lighter
from here, and there’s always
a way out

at that least
likely radius.

Bottom Virtually

A skyway floor
tiled in original Lego
red and gray.
Another covered
in carpet patched
together with black
duct tape—I make my connections
above vehicular fray
seamlessly. New patterns
will arise if we can bounce
off the darkness
into true winter
without misfiring.


“the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not”
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from “Frost at Midnight”

I get confused about red. Is it
a door, pair of jeans, or a flashing
light I want to guide me
toward the darkest day? Again, the longest night will stretch

into that moment
of optimism when all shrinking
is done and I can almost imagine
the view from the sun.

What Was That You Said about Capricorns?

No longer his day, it will
come around again—
through slowly stretching

hours of light into shrinking
nights till contraction and expansion
trade places, then trade

again. Just after that final click
to go in reverse, his day
will return. And I hope to be

around to touch it—those untouchable
vibrations and holds.

Winter Solstice

A man in the corner
of the corner
bar sings “Moonshiner.”
A beat-up harmonica
gets swiped 

across his mouth
between lines. She’s returning
from the dark side
water to her lips.