I missed it this
year, totally
whiffed, thought it was
today and then
looked at the date.
How can you miss
the shortest day of
the year? It does
not matter, the
world was shrouded
in fog, so there
was no way to
trace the long shadows
or the thin sun.
In truth I spent
the day sleeping
and writing a poem
about the longest
day of the year,
an irony, if
you will, perhaps
like the poem itself,
I was writing
about the death of
the Big Au Suble
River when it
turns out its more
of a sandy creek,
I was recalling
the end of love
when I remembered
it was really
the rebirth of
desire.
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