I think of January as a place I get to each year, and I turn
A corner there
Into the next place, which is in a different time, and I feel
I’m moving along
Afraid to be there, sometimes, but wanting to get on with it
With relief
That the land of time behind me can be left alone, walked
Taken care of
And that I don’t have to go back, I’m done, I’ve finished
That part
I’ve had the grade, the rating of the road, I wonder what’s
Up the way
It’s as if my assignment is to travel and I have to finish
The route
But I don’t really understand the purpose, just that I press on
In the changing light
The blocks all looked the same once, now they flash away