poem for a new year

the sun has gone into hiding here in ohio.

the rain walks across

the yard and carries the snow

down to the flowers

entombed beneath garden beds.

the jagged trees, waiting along the road

for their rides, slowly think,

on the cusp of this new year,

that losing their leaves

in october

was a grave mistake.

they remember no springs.

here, inside, it is warm. the family is

gathered. the extravagant meal

has been eaten. the toast to the new year

given.

the past year is in bed,

past caring, accepting the long sleep

ahead. in hindsight, the year

seems both benign and foolish.

we imbued him with

powers. we wished him

to change our lives. his magic,

a desired con.

but the year ends

mostly as it started.

the spells we threw like dice

have won us nothing.

there is no magic after all.

on the cusp of this new year,

i feel kinship with those trees

who have forgotten spring,

and the flowers gathering snow

into their shallow tombs.

but with the clocks poised to

leap, and the trees reading the braille of the stars,

I sense that one day we will all still be surprised,

they and I,

so very, very surprised.

...