All You Souls

Ale goldens my glass with the slow, sweet tones
of bourbon-soaked oak chips and vanilla.

It's the evening of the winter solstice.
Night has tipped each drop from its bottle,

leaving a slit through which the sun will pour,
bit by bit, through winter's dark months.

On this thin night, doors open for the dead.
There's a liquid humming beneath the floor.

All you souls, join me to toast the coming year,
merry among the colored lights and balsam.