The other, older calendar

The other set of days

The other countdown, another chance

One more chance

to set things right

to turn away

aside

Or back again

Renewal piquant in an oldness context

Redemption of an old revolving kind

A door with four glass panes

turning, whirling like a planet

panes that pain

Despite their seeming clarity

you really don't see through, you can't

What you do always know —

the brutal turn will come again

And always there's just one way out . . .

But for today, first day of old new year —

Managed expectations

a quiet toast with someone new

a flute of something that isn't quite champagne

attempt to love not someone but the sparkle light

the ancient day, the world, the pretty painfilled words

that art still sometimes proffers

if you choose to bend

choose to kneel down humble

choose to pick them up.