Anno Domini
as the year reverses itself,
for your arms,
my darling,
may i be the one to ask?
i see you’ve been clenching
a fistful of darkness;
lovely, will you please
open your hands?
my exchange: an embrace
that never ceases to open,
a warmth for cold cheeks and
whispers for winter evenings;
unfurl your fists: do not smear
ashes of the old days onto
the new things springing;
come with me and march into
the months of blank slates: prayers
of possibilities—a sweet deposit—
inside our own bones,
humming;
pray, proceed beloved: each step
an elucidation—a stretching of faith
to celebrate seasons of silence.
− j. p. berame // no. 012917
bob-belcher