New Year's Eve
the waning crescent and I
I have spent the day doing the shopping, making meals, cleaning, reading, and writing up to this moment. While going about the daily routine, days can slip away. That is the true king of terrors. With the end of the year in sight, I try to make sense of what I was, and of who I am now.
As I reflect on the past year, it seems I've achieved little beyond existing and I've charged through life in a kind of panic. Yet I'm haunted, still, by the conviction that everything is either preordained or accidental.
singing Let It Be
to the attic wall
down the yellow brick road
morning mist ahead
published in Frogpond, 34:2, Spring/Summer issue 2011
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