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New Year



I sit on the bed
In a pool of dappled sunlight
And crumpled sheets
Writing poetry and drinking coffee.

 It is the first day of the new year
Bright with possibility
With words waiting to be
Thought, spoken, written.

 The steam from the coffee rises,
The air from the open doorway
Chills my left side just a little
The house is quiet.

 Two dogs padding softly
Birds outside twittering
And I wish I could sit here longer
Before everything begins.

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