Old year

 

 

The old year gasps its last

hovers on the edge of oblivion

we clamour in the dark

shadow sun’s pale rays

living the morning

hoping for the day

to linger.

 

Like the white rabbit

I’m chasing light

storm pounds the roof

thought flickers body lingers

too long on the edge of sleep

breathing in

breathing out.

 

From window

chimneypot, rooftop

a shiver of blue sky

tree bare grasping high

green buds promise

an end to this

ache of cold dark day

 

as New Year beckons

with invisible finger.

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