I can say nothing about a new year.

When did it begin, and how did we know?

I look back over the past few days,

Seeking to recall that liminal space that others must have entered.

I never was there, stood on no threshold,

Took no step that had such transformative power.

I attended a party organized to announce this event

But must have glanced away during the crucial moment.

My days look no different when I awaken;

The sounds of the night hold no strange new tones.

But that evening a stranger on an unfamiliar motorcycle

Pulled in the driveway, met my eyes briefly, and then departed.

Perhaps he was the transitionary herald, signaling change with a wave of his hand,

Leaving nothing but the faintest slick of an oily rainbow

To glisten on the cold pavement under the moon.

Walking is always a dangerous thing, and the local deities must have their due.

We offer them pain and loss of face and hope they’ll be satisfied with scraped skin, blood, and shame.

Sometimes they demand broken bones and suffering prolonged.

Sometimes they ask for more, and the night fills with sirens and terrible grief.

Visitors stride hand-in-hand, often conversing or gazing around.

Residents tread with more guarded mien, knowing the area’s capricious cast.

We bedeck the streets with flowers hung; place propitiatory wreaths on front doors.

This illusion appeases us and thus we forget

That hungry gods must always be fed and so presume to calculate our loss.

We never think, “It will be my son. My mother. My dearest friend.”

We never think, “It will be me.” We never think, “It will be all of us.”

We never hear how the mountains shudder when death plays jigs

On a cadaverous fiddle and laughs and laughs and laughs.

I want to sleep

Eyes made heavy by the afternoon sky

Gray clouds pregnant fat with snow or rain or both

Hanging so low they scrape the trees

Get caught on vines and utility wires

That droop further from their weight

I want to sleep

Sink into the weariness of the year’s end

Surrender stubborn wakefulness to winter’s sway

Not think of anything needful for an hour or so

Join her in a warm bed and rest

The beat of her heart gets ever louder.

Her breathing ever more labored.

I listen and I listen and I listen.

What I fear now is silence.

I will not sleep.