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A New Year's Poem

In the early morning mist of a new year, 
she wakes from a ritual slumber
and takes her satin step
rising into her forty-fifth pirouette around the sun.

The sky is thick, gray, and mutual: heavy with insistence—
this will be the year. 
This will be the full strive song of everything she has ever wanted to do with her thick bones and curvy residence on the earth. 

Her feet hit the shore, 
and like fingers across a piano,
they stroll their masterpiece with a dedication fit for royalty. 

The day is new. 
The freedom is in its perfect place.
Time is an old friend reaching into her jacket searching for all that she has found: a crystal, a pine cone, a refurbished dream.

1/1/22

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