Look at this ascending stair of a new year,
This great come-uppance,
This hand on the red wheel,
And steady, steady as she goes,

And yet, to me, what is this settling, this stillness,
What is this shape that is forming,
Within and without,
This descending breath,
These cracking limbs,
This aging towards readiness,
That has perhaps long past its prime,
And yet...

<<agé chose>>

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