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Yule 2010

We’re diving into deep night again,
into a velvet star speckled pocket
lusciously cold as a watercress pool,
edges laced in frost.

We can’t help but fill it
with gloomy news of
economies kaput, mothers murdered,
insurgent storms.

All set a perfect stage
for this longest night with
shadows, shadows everywhere -
even the moon eclipses.

It’s a firefly called hope,
napping in the bottom
of Pandora’s golden box
that sustains us now.

We are preserved for summer –
for farmers’market
and mayfly hatches
and Perseid showers.

So today let winter hold our sadness.
We’ll feed the fire,
sing to children, stir the soup.
Tears and worry ride better

on the dappled gray fog than on our hearts.
When Earth bears everything
the January skies
can bleed spring again.

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