In indifference comes my winter solstice—
my life now groping more dark than day—
just one less even second now—
to a temperate gloom and a forever stasis.
I neither want to live shorter than my mother
nor any longer than my father—
an oh so happy mean is just my preferred destiny—
death at eighty on an overcast day.
Daily rotation brings me closer to the sun—
one day, like we all, I will burn through
its plasma and fusion moving
in time from a some-body to a no-body.
I was meant to live one less short second
on just this Icarus earth.