Creep. . .
itty bitty critter small. . .
slow uphill crawl
from the parabolic pit
of this old year,
about to shuck
its hull. . .

the night recedes
days ooze more long
seeped minute fractions spread the day
a little every day. . .
dark softens and shrinks down
and brightness grows more strong. . .

the light,
the mood
are on the up-and-up,
although there’s more
we need of
down down down–
the drippy clear
and some cold crystalline
white stuff–
before we’ve had enough
to slake the thirst
of next year’s harvest. . .

A toast with firecrackers
sparkly clothes,
balloons and cheerful tunes
or midnight popping gulps
of dozen grapes
awaits us soon–

then earth and sky and we’ll
what comes next on
to see the light of day,
when twinkling toes
have tripped the rowdy night
and kicked away
the party’s pretty
artifice confetti
which, party over,,
lays quite still, the floor to cover,

the face of some light years’ tripped
soft mystic glow
upon its quest
to spark the magic
of this new year’s light
like so much fairy-strewn

This entry was posted in Poetry, Seasons, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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