Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Balance Point

The days between the solstice and the New Year
should be intercalary. The old year's gone to dregs,
the new year waits in the wings. Old business
is tidied up and put away, but nothing begins.
This is the still point of the moving year,
the shortest days, longest nights. The seesaw trembles
at the bottom of its arc, poised to rise.

Under the sodden snow
the violets raise their heads.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

2 comments:

Pam said...

I feel the enormous energy of waiting in this poem. The last stanza is a wonderful surprise of color to a black, white, and gray first stanza.

SandyCarlson said...

I sense tremendous energy and hope, too. God bless.