A little something for the season from The Great Hunger:

SOLSTICE

Belief sits like meat on the table before us.

I fix the roast, mash the potatoes.

The old world has shriveled to a candle flame

in the middle of the table.

Why don’t we fall to our knees, given

the huge labor that delivers light to us,

as we begin the long slide

down the apex of planet and sun?

A new-born sun rises on Stonehenge, shining

on the round dance and the feast of candles.

Green trees march out of the forest

to stand vigil in the corner, jeweled dowagers.

Solstice is coming, coming, coming.

The sun gong ascends. Psalms and drums

and flutes and songs bring us

from the long dark to the blessing of light.