Past the shortest day — the longest,
darkest night, passing darkness
with the help of friends,
books, music and cigars —
you do what it takes.

On the other side, you wonder
what all the anxiety was about,
why you could not see
through that dark cloud.

Moments of darkness remain.
They pop up now and then.
But when you know the nadir
is behind you, when you
have passed the point of no return,
you can tell yourself new lies,
make up new truths
to keep the calendar moving.

What a fierce organ the mind
becomes, when the primal
juice clots in the base
with feelings of promised death.

But then, like sun rising,
even on a dark cloudy day,
the stream inside you unclogs,
drips, a bit at a time, toward hope,
toward April, of all things —
perhaps resurrection, if you
believe — daffodils and redbuds,
even if you don't.

From Sunlight & Cedar (Chicago: VACPoetry, Hedgehog Press, 2020).
Used here with permission.