For me a new year is not 365 stepping stones
For becoming something more than you are,
It's a grid of holes punched out
In orderly rows like the grate of a storm sewer
Over which passes a torrent of moments
Called my experience.
Some vanish into the holes,
Some slop onto the spaces between
And these sluices make up the flow of moments
Retained in memory that I call my history.
That you and I meet here at this reading,
This aqueduct between black holes,
Is most marvelous luck and sufficient
To fulfill the resolution I made for today:
To say just this as best I can
As who I am just now
And to thank you for being here.
