I’ve come to have
an affinity for
the longest night of the year.
Something about the utter darkness
making its full presence in and around me,
letting it be.
I wash my dishes to darkness
I eat in darkness
I gather in and around it,
letting the darkest night of the year
be guided by candle light,
and the dawn of anticipation
for the days to get longer,
I breathe when otherwise
life may seem unbreathable.
(I like light, brightness,
not dark nights of earth or soul.)
I wrote a poem the other morning
while clearing the breakfast table.
A very warm, Merry and Joyous Christmas
where the night is over
and the days have come.
the longest night of the year
quietly awakes from slumber
the sun rising high with the tide
as the moon hangs low and I sing swing low