A little something for the season from The Great Hunger:
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.