SISTER SOLSTICE
Down the hall
Late,
The light
Turned off;
The bedroom
Dissolves
In a night moon
Slanting through
The gated blinds.
There are different
Kinds of darkness.
Always is the wonder
If color lies
Where,
Imagination
Sees in shadow,
The forms of everything:
The bookcase here,
The dog on his bundle
The Tanka over the bed,
The chair over there.
And the play of illusion,
When one wall seems infinite
Because a night light
Creates the world,
Lying just behind
A shimmering
Dimension.
In early dawn,
The moon is gone,
Lost in swirling fog—-
Which beads,
Drops of water
On the garden branches.
Fading forms
In mist
Link what
Comes behind,
To
What swiftly
Ghosts in front.
The ground,
Wet,
With mottled Bay leaves,
Playing gold
Among berry twigs,
Beyond the death of frost,
Still shows life
Where mice and rabbits are quiet.
Until,
The red hawks
And feral cats,
Swoop them out.
When Solstice arrives
All is ice,
As freeze contrives
To stop time
Resting,
If ever so quickly before dawn
In stillness.
Remembering,
I hang her four,
Pure-white-paper
Snowflakes,
Cut,
With concentrated
Precision
By tiny scissors,
On dark-green bows.
That
She is ever lost
In the freeze,
In the stillness,
In the very perfect
Point of Solstice,
is,
For her,
Never
Knowing Spring.
adgitadiaries.wordpress.com 