HAPPY NEW YEAR

If the entire existence of the Earth—

all 4.54 billion years—were condensed
into just one year, accordioned together

like a head-on collision, humans

would enter the party in the second
half of the last minute of the last day.

Just in time to fall in love with

a stranger and coax the ball to drop
like a disco egg and spill out a fetal

new year. By then, the dinosaurs

would all be asleep, black-out drunk
from their 30-minute binge.

Imagine a world war that lasts

a heartbeat. A century passed over
like a page in a flipbook. A baby

conceived and buried as an old man

in the same moment. You and I
are not dinosaurs and we are not

buried yet, so think of your heartache—

the one festering inside you at this
very moment, the poison doe

nuzzling itself against your throat.

Picture your anxiety, your midnight
panic, your fear, your perennial doubt:

each of these becomes not even a word

in the book, barely a grain of sugar
in the bowl. This is not a devaluing

of your pain but a dethroning.

An adjustment of the microscope’s lens.
Look up. The fireworks have started.

Kiss me. They will be gone so soon.