The arms of winter
reach minute by minute,
day by day,
to the horizon of spring.
The quiet of the solstice,
a silent bell.
I listen to an age,
the cave of time.
This ellipse of seasons,
when I reach
into the dream of earth,
myself a dream,
a spiritus shed of daily labor,
and touch a spirit,
that shares the shadow
of itself with me.
As if saying,
for a moment all stars are one,
all touching, love,
all dark, also light.
The solstice opens its door,
where I watch the fall of snow,
each flake,
a work reciting
prayers of peace and faith.