Quincunx Solstice

And home, five twelfths
Of the sky removed
From our last and first
Family departure.

How is the lattice made?
How do we move, forever
Dropping through pinball dreams
Toward something like intention,

Something akin to our desires
But never exactly our own?
Why ask, who cares, today
Is the first day of summer

And we are here, weird dreams
And approximations
Of surprises, more and less
Surprising than expected.

The silly clouds, those sheep
Without a shepherd or a dog
Have scattered and the big
Bad toothy sun grins down.