The winding road
from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Day
is hard to follow –
unnecessary humps,
diversions,
hold-ups,
unexpected lights –
and intersections all awry
That normal weekly neatness cast aside
and signposts scribbled over
then abandoned:
distractions everywhere
and black holes, potholes too
We lose our way,
go Tuesday, Friday
Monday, any day
then somehow Sunday
leaps out from a crossroads hedge
beyond the mist
and we cling on
though absently
Somewhere just out of sight
beyond our waning grip, they say,
order remains
but something happened here:
something passed by
something that changed
the pattern of the sky