poem for the summer solstice

Lanes on the cusp of honeysuckle and dog-rose,

ash and oak in their full clothes.

Here where this damselfly alights

on the solar globe of the ox-eye daisy,

where the spells that make rain and wind

and birdtracks pleach the air –

again and again we sing the sun back up,

spin summer-short moonlight into our hair;

again and again in this circle of days and nights

against loss, decay, death, we raise hope, friendship, love.

Brief lives; but the stuff of which we’re made

is starfire and water – everything holds our trace.



~ Roselle Angwin © 2012