A Clear Glass of Air on New Year's Eve

author's note:

At the end of another year, I revisit this poem.

Those aren’t just fancy words below--I can indeed feel the clarity of my soul.

No, not very often.  But still...


A CLEAR GLASS OF AIR ON NEW YEAR'S EVE

At the end of another year--
alone

and blank
at my hardwood table
under a bare light bulb.

Devoid of sensation--
I could be dead...

but no--
that clear glass of air on the table
tells me:

you only seem empty--
in reality
you are filled with spirit.

Yes--
prompted by that thought
I suddenly sense the purity within.
I can feel the clarity of my soul.

But this bliss
only lasts for the moment of a breath

with the next
the mad mix
of muddy past and foggy future
floods my glass again.

Again I am as I usually am:
a human being
of deep flaws and minor foibles.

But refreshed
after feeling the pure spirit again.

By returning to my truth
I return to our truth:
  though we seem quite muddled
  we’re actually as clear
  as that glass of spirit.

Suddenly now
a rumbling jumble of bells
choruses midnight
through the clouds

and in honor of our spirit
I hoist my full glass to the light.

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