Wednesday, January 01, 2014


What sort of magical thinking is this:
A day fades to nothing
And something new swirls from the galaxy’s dust?

Three moths fly from her hair
Two kangaroos box on the lawn
An owl sits on the telephone wire

Her fortieth year on earth
She borrows her husband’s glasses
So she can see the owl’s dusk speckled feathers.

This is the last summer of the house
A sign at the boundary fence says sold
The sparkling wine they drink was a gift

From the real estate agent.
They sip, planning their futures,
Her husband asks for his glasses back.

Moments later, the owl spreads its wings
Into the old year.

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