Dear spongy expiring peppermint tea cake-
Dear last day of the year-
Dear statements like pages in a magazine you might flip through-
Dear December 2014-
The day after Christmas is all tags and names and half written lists strewn across the table with some thick coil or ribbon untied in every corner of your heart and mind. I try to bundle the year- to pack up the pile of mornings- to close the box on a solid idea I can stamp a clear label on and send on its way. The gifts of the year are hushed, collected, burnished with past efforts and future inspirations. What you hold onto is the present.
the loose wiring of ambitions, that befriender of genius
waiting on a weekend electrician for Ezra’s lamp
a cagey dawn in episodic tantrums that squarely passed
illuminate sunsets and blasphemy and science and haze
lay bare obscurities to satisfy the erudite
out of Homer lots and home garages, romance the dendrite
as whatever light you are chasing leaves no sign to stop
the last offer can be left open on the modern desktop