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: Ne 'z in ket da gorolliñ
- 2: My old body that you buried with the mud and the timber
- 3: I might fail math if you don't move your shoulder
- 4: With life and so much loss, time has weighted us
- 5: Out in space, coast to coast
- 6: Like a sprig of yarrow caught in the dark
- 7: The moon still rises on everybody else
- 8: To the green field by the sea
- 9: Eating cereal, remembering the sky
- 10: We'll tell you of a blossom and of buds on every tree
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