when the dark clouds of December

press this thin light hard

against harder snows

it’s easy to believe that darkness

might descend and never leave.

the grandfathers made sacrifice

to the night, raised great stones

in great circles to gauge

the weakened light, to solicit

a resurrection- a harbinger star

calling kings and thieves to a promise

that in each of us lies a place

that has never been wounded, never

harmed, has never been beaten, never

branded by the white hot irons

of insufficiency. the sun pauses

for a son, while the cosmos slow

into equipoise. give praise, give praise

let us raise our voices to the heavens

let us light the pyres of winter, and attend

to the sacrifice, let us bow in supplication

that light might yet arise

from this black fabric of darkness,

that these stars might finally draw us home again

on this, the very darkest night of the world.

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