A New Year's Toast

To All the Ones Waiting for the Clock To Turn

To the ones waiting out the time between the day’s finish and falling into bed

To the ones with little between your night and your morning except the clock

To the ones alone, and yet never alone, their thoughts with them like solicitors

To the ones full of food and friends, tipping out one more glass in the kitchen

To the famished, a fridge full and a tank full and a mind leaking

To the patient, freed for now of want but remembering white knuckles of despair

To the rich, sent away but wanting back in

To the cold, and to the not-quite young, and to the grieving, all pushing back death’s long embrace

This is no new year.

This is the first day of many, and in those days, may you find hope.

May you find that the beginning we all seek is always at hand, and that the death we seek to shake off is already dead.

May we find that the Love that broke open light and dark and day is poured out within you.

And may we ever seek that face, the face who finds us in the dark,

In the fits and starts,

In the breeze of midnight,

Who gives us rest.