Solstice

I have gorged on the darkness
of new moon's back-turned 
rejection then slept. it is not 
enough to forget everything that I was
for the body is a memory too
and the earth has registered 
a year's weight of my steps
across the now dried dead grass. 
instead I will curl into the orbit
of my body erase the shriek of my
passage forward through 
ice and nail-sharp wind ease
softly into the devouring of 
my own tail. so it must be every
year, an opening to obliteration
nothing left to carry
forward but the breath
a handful of seeds and this
small thimble of love.