Winter Solstice

Daybreak: A clay bison
in the blood. Swollen eye,
rust-bodied mice with wings,
clouds flee east. A few cars
pass. The Sun-Swallower
smiles. Paths branch; branch
again, ochre daubed; cold
intestine-loam; candle-
shadows; red-graffiti
on the insides of our thighs: “Who
will we be
when the lights go out?” A plea,
a prayer. I believe
in the long night, beast-
curled
into you. I believe
in the long night. No arrow
can ever
find it.