dark but dawn is coming
not rushing but slowly
dragging itself to the horizon
to send out one tentative
tendril of light
in a few hours
it will be the first
hour of the first day
or rather daylight
of a new year
and the sound you hear
is a sigh, made up
of so many hopes
aligned like planets
pointing the way
to new
new starts
new approaches
new life, new breath
new ways to build and live
and the sound you hear
is the holding of that breath
the tickle at the back
of the throat, the
giveaway: it's all well
and good to say
we'll be new
but we know we are still we
still flawed, human things
that cannot will ourselves
into new forms, shifting shapes
to suit new expectations:
instead we carry with us
all the suns of all the days
we have already passed
suns neatly folded
into pockets, darkside out,
sunside in, that we let out only
when we need to
remind ourselves
of who we really are
