William Bibby


A Poem for the New Year

Tuesday, 4 Jan 2022


  We are near the rivers eastern flank
where the valley fades the light below
and cascade streams tip and flow
toward the Inn drawing down its blinds
against the lingering sunshine
its photons already in tomorrow’s bank.

Then the counters open and doorways creak
migrants of the night descend
congregate by fires and spend  
their friendship and the glide
of tango and the trombone’s slide
toward the warm embrace we seek.

And while we watlzed the powdered floor
a kitchen girl arrived unseen:
an illusion or a dream,
and watched us laughing, dressed to kill,
and said we were so beautiful
and she would never close the door

saying we were one, and all the same.
The music floods, the softened light
upon her face, her smile setting right
all the twists of history and of fate
gathering us before we separate
from the dance we cannot name.

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