"The Shortest Night of the Year," by Carol J. Pierman

Like spice, the pollen, ripening grains
thicken the air. Wind has died
to a regular breathing
handed along like a secret
from branch to branch

This house stands in the middle of
thousands of miles of fields.
The lawn itself is wide
and flat as a plain. Only
the trees, planted at the edge,
make this space different,
the center of something

                        First
there is the west sky
where darkness folds down
crimson, vermilion, gently
as a skirt to the floor

Then fireflies, and the light
of moon falling wet
and yellow on the lawn

There is a hollow
where throat meets
shoulder. It holds
the heat of sunlight

                        Earth
falls away slowly here.
To every side    the horizon
when it is day

- Carol J. Pierman

 in The Naturalized Citizen

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Happy summer solstice, friends.