And in a second, a literal blink, they say the year is over.
And are things different? Pity sake if they are the same.
And I can’t say you are doomed for resolving to be happy,
Although I pronounced it. That’s the stupidest notion ever.
But these are last year’s words in the same sharp language,
And I fear a cynic I’ve become as I shove the needle tree out.
Just give me a second. You’ve got to give me a second, for
There is a Currier and Ives live manger moment. I think I can
Directly infuse into these frozen-over veins. I think I can feel
A feather of hope for this heart as it ages when I purview the
Second that changed the world. I close my eyes and I know.
Jesus is the father and spirit holding every speck of time and
Broken ones like me optimistically and confidently together.
“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.”
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Prompt for the New Year at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads