January sits in free promise,
pulling her hair like
a delicate chord,
she’ll ring out to me
when I see new risings
or close the day through locking doors,
gently tiptoeing around
my foreground, she fills
the air with youthful sound,
with her vacant gaze
she cuts my time in two,
guiding me effortlessly into
the shade something new,
January is it true you rub
the eyes of tired times,
hold the breeze that charms
the seedlings decline,
cut the hearts
from the blossom skirting past
“if only we could capture their growing
if only we could tell them apart”
help me find the thorough path
through the overcast,
open the light
to something different,
to a purer heart,
to purer sight,
January help me hoist the sail
to reach beyond southerly winds,
our timing must be perfect,
for when the sun hits
the spiders spindle, flickering,
we’ll see his web of virtue,
to capture us within,
hanging from a simple thread,
we’ll picture all reflection
in a single rain drop falling,
hitting the ground,
shattering the sound
for the fire flies light awakening,
they’ll dance,
burning the nights ember,
making way for December
giving us the focus to gaze over
natures dormant state of slumber,
January opens, I free myself,
pulling duration's,
ringing delicate chords,
she provides new meanings
for me to gravitate towards.
