it waits:
snow, for deer and rabbits
(and the altruistic saint)
to dint it
birch, for sun
to see it, blinding
a paradox of white
(reflecting all, yet blanc)
paper, for words
to give companionship
and completion
and to bring you record of this day
the year’s first – annual, resolute,
ready for anything
wishing us a happy new year
and to know which day it is
* * *
