January First

[rayuela_de_maga]

The first of the year, time
Of twisted branches,
Cups of tea, fell winds, and
Old beginnings.
Yesterday, the bluebirds looked both ways.
We wove fictions from ribbons and
Faded morning glories. Each dust bunny an
Icon, symbol of roads not taken,
Deified decisions. And yet,
the backward glance was blinded.
But today,
The sweeping of the floors, the breaking
Of the flowers, a new bowl of oranges,
A different window.
New iterations of before, a wind
Upon a different shore.