très riches heures IV

solstice

the long year folds along its spine to close, chapter to chapter, or like the fine edges of a sheet shook out to meet just so. let us lie together between them, together as we might have done in childhood, head to toe in a narrow borrowed bed while whatever else is happening rages on in another room. let us wait and when there is no more patience to wait, rest. when we wake it will be christmas or something like it, it will be something like enough at last.