On the Solstice
a poem for the first day of summer
On the Solstice
Lightning stilts
the gloam, lingers
behind the eyes.
A negotiation
between stasis
and abrasion,
petrichor
and car exhaust,
lends the weather
its broken music.
At dusk, I move
through the room
or the room moves
through me.
Night falls
into insect static.
Air too thick to think.
And the moon
in a pool
on old linoleum.
A pensive welcome to Summer. I love the way you contrast nature and the unnatural: the moonlight pooling on linoleum is vivid and I learned a new word, too. Petrichor. So that’s what that scent is! Beautiful.
I loved the quiet uncertainty of whether you were moving through the room, or the room through you.
Perhaps
stillness
is moving too.