What’s so different,

now that one bundle of thirty,

arbitrary and detached, passes,

barely noticed, from one to another?

We have a time.

 

What’s so different,

as we look out from inside the same

rooms with their corners, known but

unobserved, safe but stultifying?

We have a place.

 

What’s so different,

the streamers fallen, wine now flat

in decanters of promise, jokes all told,

recognized, congratulated?

We have another.

 

What’s so different,

these moments of grey ineptitude

encased in more moments, equally

lacking in certitude?

We have ourselves.

 

What’s so different,

promises made, unkept from the year before,

through wine-stained teeth, and 

blurry, careless shrug?

We have a hope.

 

What’s so different – 

she still can’t remember your good things;

he still doesn’t recognize your worth;

they still haven’t apologized

from last year’s infraction?

We have more time.

 

What’s so different?

We’re alive to ask the question.