SOLSTICE

On a dark winter's day,

a sudden mysterious

breeze'll go 

wheezing through blue bristles

of spruce branches,
and in a snap

you think how—those trees 

back in Eden 

must have sounded 

exactly like these—explicit,
equally 

misunderstood,

underutilized,

never listened-to,

and so on. 

Only, in Adam 

and Eve's defense, you figure—
they had a good excuse.

Since that mighty 

wind rending those bleak, 

original branches 

likely didn't 

scare out such perfect
English as these do—

probably more like
some of that ugly Church
Latin, or something.