Anna Oneglia   © 2013 All Rights Reserved

Solstice at the Gates


            of the Arctic that end-
less day I saw

the sun turn
            down and a white

          swan dance
red with a wolf.

In the valley felled
            voices all one

            on the other
piled up to chase

the game. As day-
            light pressed pale

             wraith from peak
I counted life

midstream falling
            golden. The color

            leached like tie-dye
from the sky and I

in a chill grip
           eroding to grief

           had to go—I didn’t
see any of this.
 

 

Francis LaChapelle
Copyright © 2013  

Francis LaChapelle is a writer and poet who has spent the last many years watching frontiers.


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