tropic of capricorn

Night of the winter solstice; dark snow-dreams blink upon eyelids closed
confessions are ripe, waiting to be found in the starry face of the great bear
fires are lit; bodies contort and meld with the flamesparks, ghostly ghasts
shaping five point ids.  The winds call me home to taste pristine icemen.

I cannot bear this parting, I won't be found until morning finds me again.
This long night of the year, its darkness, comfort only softness can imitate;
seems to be a haven in this madass world of bright lights and anti-christs.
I wish I could hold you now, under the tropic of Capricorn, touched in sun.


Dreaming of distant places