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: You don't have to fly into the sun
- 2: And deregulate the couple at the bottom end
- 3: I had no inkling of just how far the plates of our continents would crack
- 4: And we're on the right side of the ground where they bury the bones
- 5: I'm not related to anyone
- 6: You are a case of the vapours
- 7: Now I feel like Kafka with a bad migraine
- 8: For when the heart's a sinking stone
- 9: Fierce as the Baltic sea
- 10: All the trees carve shards of light
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