I am free of this year past,
I have scrubbed myself clean,
December the last
Marked my last day of wean.
My unrest was stirred in churning rivers last spring,
And moved by newly hatched mosquitoes,
Hungry for the peace that mountains bring
I left the beauty of sodden pastoral snows.
As the land slowly dried
I effervesced with juniper and pine,
Witnessed alpine flowers live and die,
And saw something new in the clear glacial wine.
Attended by petrifying trees beneath translucent mountain water,
I was born of my own head, like the god Zeus’ daughter.
I peddled my last poison in the heat of last summer,
The freight of a scale and of skeletons had been encumbering my frame,
So I cast my unliquidated fortune into an empty steel dumpster
And ceased to fear being asked for my name.
I consumed my last poison in the fall,
Forsook my sick companions for the grim comfort of canyons,
Professing my sudden solitude to the stolid sandstone walls,
My world answered with silence, bemused by my famine.
Then, in winter’s gray onset, my files were burned,
I was suddenly forgiven an egregious debt,
When a benevolent being in some gray county building learned
That I was reborn, and it was time to forget.
As December disintegrated, so too did the pain of remolding the ego and id from the same unfired clay.
Pain that was rewarded with a kiln-warm kiss at twelve, New Year’s Day.