The new year and the old year
advance across a bridge;
the old year wears a diadem
of stars whose light has dimmed;
the new year is encircled
by planetary rings, many moons
in orbit on iridescent rims.
The old year is expended
to one last hour, a breath;
its heart, consumed by every step
weighs infinitely less,
as with a sigh for works not done
and promises not kept,
at midnight at the midpoint
on the silver span, it's met
by new year's apparition
with gleaming arcs outstretched.
The rendezvous
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2006
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Свидетельство о публикации №106123101163
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