New

 

It isn’t really a fresh start –

Or a blank slate, or a clean page.

It doesn’t wipe away the time,

The simmering hurts, the dried-up dreams;

It doesn’t make you a new self

Out of starlight and watered silk

In the image of your oldest hope

For what you might someday become;

It’s only a mark in the shifting sand,

A rest in the music, a quick breath in,

And a chance to raise a glass to uncertainty –

Of all companions the most faithful in this life.