(or, Circular Love and Logic in the Arctic)
*Degrees:
There is a ring around the north pole,
At six-six point five-six*,
Where at noon and thirty minutes
On this longest day,
The air might swoon at forty.*
If you could lay your head
Upon this line in winter--
You might tilt your gaze
One hundred forty-four*
To see the star that all the universe
Grooves around (if you view it from the ground)--
It is not this day.
Radiance:
This day,
There is only one star, and only one celebrity.
For this single set of twenty-four hours
The sun apologetic circles me:
As if at once he could atone
For the last six months
That I've been left in the dark,
To reflect alone
Without reflecting.
Playing the polar ingénue, I pirouette
My jagged arctic bodyscape,
To the proscenium edge of perpetual day.
I exude exactly sixty-six degrees
(And thirty-three minutes) of indifference
To his revolving spotlight.
Like every other dancer on a pole,
I am only as strong as I can make him
Want to look but not let him touch.
I refuse to let his gaze melt me
(Though we both know everything within
Lives for its attraction)
I dance a ring of endless light,
Proud in my denial
That in six months time
This principal of cold, glittering crystal
Will languish again, ignored,
In absolute daylessness.
(image reused courtesy of the Wikimedia Foundation)
