This shortest day has been flooded with sunlight. I slept almost none of the night. The hinges of the year have felt rusted shut for a long time, but I can't pretend it hasn't still been swinging to the rhythm of axial tilt whatever once and future fantasies people like to frame themselves inside. Sidereal time does not care whether I still have to ask the contractors to mask themselves before they cross our threshold—strange guisers—to repair some small parts of our house. It was oddly, seasonally apropos. Happy solstice! If the sun can come back, why not the rest of us, at least once in a while?
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- 1: Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep?
- 2: One to sing and one to haul and one to heave me when I fall
- 3: This is what water, wind and time and toil reveal
- 4: We're the ones who stand here now, but many others will again
- 5: And the shrouds hum full of the gale of the grave and the keel goes out to the sea
- 6: Cormorant to rock, gulls from the storm
- 7: On the edge and off the avenue
- 8: Afghanistan banana stand
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