navigation must be free,
say the politians.
The oil must flow,
like the blood of a child in Gaza

slowly on the mend
going through my old poems
the darkness of then
reminds me of my journey
out of the night to daylight

up in the attic,
sober and reading, writing,
the quiet before dawn,
a little meditation,
a January Sunday

inhale and exhale,
so simple, and yet my mind
slips away and drifts

to embroider life
with books and music, and grow
slowly, stitch by stitch

animals cower,
pyromaniacs rejoice,
another year starts

as midnight heads West,
fireworks fill the darkness,
lighting the new year