Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Gazing At A New Datebook For A New Year

Pages flip with cooperation of
Index finger and thumb.
A purr of flickering whiteness:
Respectful, quiet, numb.

It’s way too soon to divine what
Kind of year it will be:
The handwriting isn’t on the wall
Where anyone can see.

A prayer descends like a shadow
Eager to be bestowing
Strength to deal with whatever
Spitballs fate is throwing.


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