post 1 january

justwrite 1 january

often I start with a departure from the desire not to begin there is within a sense that mentioning going or beginning is like winning the ending there is no start that can’t be partially made of a stared-through window the white space the snow replacing colors dampening senses and freezing cheeks cheapened by loneliness there is dust between the window panes glad to be doubled but troubled by inaccessibility no one can reach in and unspin those webs those threads of gray across the way and when someone goes by seen from a mile high or the third floor they seem more than distant they seem resistant to interpretaion but still fascination keeps the eyes glued until they grow used to the sound the echos resounding through the couryard bouncing hard off of walls interrupted by flashing lights of the right kind the twinkly finds with three in a row from the same shop the stall called off and the switch turned on there are songs I was thinking of playing but the way the wind is blowing leads me to listen more closely for the roasting of comfort across the honeycomb of homes I can hear the bread baking sweetly yeasty next door and taste the crisp paper torn at an angle off of the next best gift I am lifting up the pink-coated child wildly chasing herself across the yard and meeting her face in the snow there are sleds and one more to grow on with grandparents to know on and the trash and shouts to overflow on