New poem--in celebration of the solstice




Look at the face of the unconquered sun
standing in the long shadow of a gnomon.
It is the time of the waiting cold,
and of the raven’s feast.


As the earth’s belly tilts,
the gathered cosmic fruit
fervours to the tumbling
slaughter, to one ersatz god,
that glittering disk of empire,
in the cult of Aurelian’s temple,
long before Nicene edict and creed.
Some remember when we thought to beg the sun’s return,
Gull the artful plough, make the lying north true again.
Foolishly mining a star for a planet’s circling secret.


For appearances never really deceive;
the north is for a time a blind eye in a socket,
its rolling gaze both seeming and sure.
hidden by the snows of Hyperion---
Theia’s gift to the thinking world.