the changing of the months always pulls at me
pulls at me the way the numbers are swallowed up
in a new page
and a new “1”
neatly stacked up in the corner of the glossy calenderial sheet
like a new horizon that somehow
has always known the dawn of time.
it’s in the turning of that page,
the pinning up of the back of the month
and the unveiling of the new photograph,
the new drawing
the new illustration
the new set of numbers
that i release my captured breath
release it and watch
as the oxygen and exhaled nitrogen are
freed to swirl and drop
molecule by molecule, joining with
atoms of the past decades and centuries, and
transforming into
volumes of the future air
future to be breathed
and laughed
and future to be awaited, unknown
untimed
and in that turned page, i
with freshly inhaled expectancy
perch on the edge of tomorrow
closing my eyes and letting the Light
of Hope
wash over me.
image via weheartit
The Oaxacaborn Blog 