Solstice I

listen. she weepsfor daylight, which

seems out of reach

a demon prowling

never leaving her be

the wolves howling

and hunting false meat

.

listen. she weeps.

January, wither, waste — 

barren, inescapable darkness

where life wavers on a breath;

all life wavers, disintegrates.

.

January, gaping, gray — 

starved, fissured ground

where the Daffodil is born;

the doomed Daffodil buds, struggles.

.

January, unforgiving, unchanging — 

freezing, asphyxiating air

where blossoms dare to dream;

the Daffodil blossoms and

.

b r e a t h e s .

He combines —

confines and

confines — until

the only proof

he’s even alive

sits on the

bathroom sink.