Daylight and streetlight
do a slow crossfade
as the clock tower
counts to six.
December raindrops grow sluggish
at 33 Fahrenheit,
like eyelids thinking
of long, cold sleep.
Their frozen dreams must be like prayer,
the faith in a sunburst eternal morning
and the silvergreen ricochet
from one crystal minaret
and the trumpetfall of water
in that last degree before dark,
they sing the litany of falling,
of rising to fall again,
a hymn in the throats of the celebrants,
a benediction like the sea…
For our readers everywhere, we at Scholars & Rogues wish you a Happy Solstice.