Anne Dailey

I lost it
somewhere between Samhain
and the solstice.
I’ve looked in the ivy,
parted the holly branches,
scoured the clumps of mistletoe
hanging in the oaks.
Now the dark has come
permanently.
The old mages will be so mad
to hear that I
misplaced part of the sun
before the darkest day
when we need it most.
I wasn’t careless or thoughtless
or forgetful or heedless.
Brilliance overawed me
and escaped my care
before I could hold it back.