New Year’s Night

And outside
The streets are draped
In white sheets
Until April
When we’ll open
Windows again
And let in fresh air

On my walk
I spot the super moon—
A golden fishbowl
On the horizon

But no one else is out
Probably nursing
A hangover

Of course, no years
Of any kind exist
And what there is
We count from scratching
On cave walls
With a charcoal tip
Assigning names and dates
Where none exist

So, I’m not about
To break out
The bubbly
That’s sitting
in frigid peace
In my garage
For something
That doesn’t exist
Or never did

If I did lift a glass
I’d toast a few friends
Who passed

But wouldn’t
Waste a dime
On a mythical category
Of the mind
That comes
In the darkest season
And mocks
The Age of Reason