At the Twilight of New Year’s Eve

I keep looking back,
as if I have parted with an unfaithful friend,
forgetting something to say,
as if I have left home,
leaving my elderly mother alone.

I keep peeping into the window to my room,
tidy as the doll house in the toy store,
catching the shadow of a sullen ghost,

gibbers: sometimes, frozen lake turns
into a witch’s caldron,
when you quickly absorb shadows,

like the forest pond,
like the dragonfly’s eyes,
ripples even by the drop of  a little petal,
brood in the ice.

I nod, scoff, nod and scoff and nod.
Wish to keep the twilight in my room,
until I catch the resolution evasive,
sat it on my desk with super glue
for the new days.

©Byung A. Fallgren