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Yet another year
The sun covers my fingers this morning,
this year that becomes another.
I’m asking how to join with it, how cold
air from the north mixes with a southern
front and shapes a billowing sky.
This year has no hand to grasp, no rope
to braid. It’s a simple oil bronze lock
opened by blade and bow. This year
is an invitation to notice. To not judge.
To friend, and be friended.
Sometimes we dance with dozens,
scuffing shoes on the floor of the palace,
dipping low in the dark, stealing kisses,
but this year it’s just us inside, a cold cup,
a frosted railing, a tapestry of solo breath
mixing the inside of us with the outside
of us all, this grand home of Polaris, a need
to follow so deep we select one from
thousands and name it. What will we name
this year, this birth, this new companion?
© Trapper Markelz 2021
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