has started, but my days still belong to the slow and lazy winters.

The calendar has turned, but not the weather. And so I say….


The Calendar says
The year is hatching

But my days
Are of depth and slowness
Thoughts rooted
in marshy slumber.
Bitter, biting winds
And abstract sunrises.

How then, am I to wish you
A Happy New Year?

Wait… till my winds change
Wait… till my sun rays crinkle
Wait… for the new sap to run
The gait of blood – deep in my veins – will pick up

And together, we will celebrate.

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