Old year

  The old year gasps its lasthovers on the edge of oblivionwe clamour in the darkshadow sun’s pale raysliving the morninghoping for the dayto linger. Like the white rabbitI’m chasing lightstorm pounds the roofthought flickers body lingerstoo long on the edge of sleepbreathing inbreathing out. From windowchimneypot, rooftopa shiver of blue skytree bare grasping highgreen buds promisean end to thisache of cold dark day as New Year beckonswith invisible finger.