The longest night is over,
and the shortest day arrives
in cloud and mist and freezing cold.
tearing jagged pieces from the day
until the light is gone.
Blaze, fire in the cold hearth,
and chase the shadows of the year,
the ghosts of all the broken things
left behind by stormy tides,
picked and pecked by crow birds at the tideline.
Leap, flame, and paint the walls with dancers,
for even the dead must have light
to show them the way home.