Here is a poem - I'm afraid it clunks like an old mill.
I told you, "Yep, the Equinox," yet not the Equinox at all,
It's the Solstice
when Earth slides in place like a socket cups a ball.
Flying through the universe, our hipbones and our hands,
We dive down with green turtles, then the sun warms hips in other lands.
Crystal, carapace, and bone,
On the pendulum we sway;
Til at that instant, long nights dissolve,
We turn and swim the other way.
It's all in our heads.