I liked your daily, weekly, yearly cadence that structures your poem ever forward to our end days. As a single father, I know the days of the weeks well. Monday, Tuesday & alternating weekends are heaven & peace ever-elusive fleeing on other days. Wednesday (Odin's day) & Thursdays, I'm raped by Loki & Hades without my sun or Sigyn hanging on a prayer and the next moment endlessly living & lying. I'm happy to bend over for these brothers if they would grant me another Monday to make something even more beautiful for my son.

.

Your poem reminds me of that cue-ball singer, Sinead O'Connor. Here are the lyrics to soothe your time when you are far from your sun's orbit:
.

"A Perfect Indian"
.
A Perfect Indian is he
Remembering him/her life is sweet
Like a weeping willow
.
His/Her face on my pillow
Comes to me still in my dreams
And there I saw a young baby
.
A beautiful daughter was she
A face from a painting
Red cheeks & teeth aching
.
Her eyes like a wild Irish sea
On a table in her yellow dress
4 a photograph feigned happiness
.
Y in my life is that the only time
That any of U will smile @ me
I'm sailing on this terrible ocean
.
I've come 4 my self 2 retrieve
Too long have these eyes been feeling
Like Lir's children
.
& there's only 1 way 2b free
He/She's shy & he/she speaks quietly
He/She's gentle & (s)he seems 2 me
.
Like the elf-arrow
His/Her face/farce worn & harrowed
Is (s)he a daydreamer like me
.
I'm sailing on this terrible ocean
I've come for my self 2 retrieve
.
2 long have I been feeling like Lir's children
& there's only 1 way 2 be free

.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Lir#:~:text=%5B10%2D13%5D%20Aoibh%20bore,love%20for%20the%20four%20children.