Blood letter

A sickness would overcome me

in time for the winter solstice

to deface me with

a kind of beleaguered
discretion

not really trying

to suffer the dying

but bowing before

a cell
that would not

fail

the longest night
dreams

the shortest day 

screams
and an idea

got in my way
that i could

ever change you,

it’s true

but in this gray place,
where i try and hold this,

bleeds a certain feeling 

i can miss

in time for

this bloody solstice

to let the blood 

of my faith

in you
spill

and my flesh would pale in

your garrison

an entourage of

comparisons
go idly wiling 

slightly smiling
as i shiver
red

this river flows.