it's a new year
a fresh number, a fresh month.
notice something new,
icicles dangling from the steam pipe.
how odd that it snakes up the hillside.
a stand of trees all the same youthful age,
the older one leaning so far over the creek
as to touch the branches on the other side.
today, the birds are chirping that I am late
where have I been, but sleeping under
warm covers waiting for the sun to
barely touch the top branches.
notice something new, a quickening
of the pulse, a new yearning,
a touch that feels warmer,
a fresh start.