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