The shortest day dawned in rain.
I lit a candle and dreamed the future.

Some days the sun appears not to move
at all. They used to think the sun died

and had to be reborn. We built Stonehenge
to make sure we could pin the sun in the sky

with rocks, even in winter. I dream of escaping
from a hospital with needles still in my legs.

A long hallway to a happier new year.
A time of cleansing, fire, feast and famine.

To chase away evil spirits with flame and song.
It occurs to me it would be a great time

for an apocalypse, all that dark, the stockpiling.
One ritual involves reading poems of rebirth,

eating pomegranate seeds. I consider soaking
in a yuzu bath, bringing in the branches of cedar

to clear the air. We speak of goals, how much further
we will go. How many more times the sun will rise and set on us.