Underneath the vast expanse of black,
No twinkling flickers of far-off galaxies,
I stand. It's New Year's Day, but barely.
The noise I hear is coming from inside,
Where sparkling white grape juice is being poured.
Somewhere in there people will be talking
About their resolutions: namely, not to die.
I don't even want to join them, because
I've always preferred to meet the new year
Face to face, alone. Sometimes it's alright
To feel the cold. And the sky doesn't mind;
I think it's happy to have company at midnight.
And, truth be told, so am I.