Winter Solstice by Paul Hellweg

Winter Solstice, Year of the Monkey,
the cupped hand can hold water or cradle a breast
sources of life immemorial, details
in the observer, caresses in the dark.
All of us trapped in iron cage, maker unknown,
suspicion falls on self. Freedom the key, but
where lies the door? Remember ancient savannah,
soft dirt underfoot, gliding like wind wolves through tall grass,
horizon the destination, not the limit.
Remember blood-red sunsets and
the welcoming warmth of dawn’s first light.
Remember bright cold stars and inky vastness,


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