Winter solstice

Image credit: Cornelia Munteanu via Unsplash

I haven’t written much in November and December, mostly revising—winter just doesn’t feel like a generative time. I’ll leave you with a poem from 2020 when I first started writing. I don’t submit it anymore, but it feels appropriate for the coming solstice. See you in the new year…

Drombeg

The sun slopes down
the edge and leans
upon the stone circle, filling

its interior with shadow.
I press my palm against
a recumbent slab; a warmed

print on stone presses back.
Across the circle, birdcall
draws my line of sight

straight through the worn pillars
raised like doors,
yet I hesitate to step inside

as though a darkening wind
blows between an old
crack of winter, those years

stacked upon years,
the breath that streams
over the threshold

and those Neolithic hands
reaching
once more.