CALL ME BELOVED

while driving to work I watch the snow slide
down the streets, flakes forming eddies and swirls
as they get caught in small cyclones along the sidewalks.
I’m trying to find satisfaction in snow, in new beginnings,
because I’m tired of my false deadlines – these
established dates that mean nothing, in a sense.

the idea of a New Year is seductive, a seperate
and mysterious entity – it’s as if crossing that
mystic threshold between the two years inflicts
a similar restorative change to your person as well.
but I woke up parched in a crowded hotel room,
with the unshakable sensation that it was just another year,
just another day.

the change must come from within, I know,
but a long buried part of me wishes
for outside intervention, afraid of the pains
of failure and realistic aspiration.