I know it’s summer even if I can’t decipher the call.
I believe in the birds haunting me. I held on.
I’m full of bluster but also full of vision.
I’m not ready to put the book down.
To stop singing bright spots thrilling the quicksilver
.....over my torrent.
I make sounds, forget to die. I call it living,
.....this inhuman conch in the ear.
A pewter sensation and wind.  

The sun remains a yellow sail tacked to the sky.
I am climbing air here. I am here
.....in the open.
The kestrel swerves.
Its silent kerning.
A stunning calibration of nothing.
I’m left to see. 
--from 'A Winding Sheet for Summer'; Peter Gizzi

I wasn't planning on a solstice related post, but, here it is! The poem in its entirety available at POETRY, June 2016.

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