Immersed in shaft of January sunlight,
I open last year’s journal to reflect
on what’s gone before.
I pull used tissue from pocket,
and with breath through nose
tiny particles of tissue
explode. White fireworks
dance in slant of sun
in which I sit,
rise, fall, float, whirl.
I’m mesmerized, enchanted, blown away
by the mystery
of what has gone before—
cries, longings, and yes,
celebrations well-worthy of fireworks—
and what is yet to come.
The old blown away with a whoosh
to dance, twirl, tango
somehow coalescing, yet
making room for the new.
for the beauty of the dance
God weaves from it all
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