Watched a late, sudden glow flood the cliffs last night.
Woke up, already one full day of a new year behind me,
Which made, what, nineteen thousand eight hundred
Forty-eight turns since birth. What could not happen began
To happen. Used to mention the millennium like it was
The future, like it was new. No longer. Good
And stuck into it now. How was the twentieth-century
View from the start of the fourth year of the Great War?
No more mistaken for the fin de siecle, to be sure.
Likewise no mistaking this whatever it is for whatever
Went just before. Bodily dragging through the day, felt
Some violation of the game, some offense had been made
Just to be doing this again. Everyone wants to know when
It's too long, when it's time, when it's long past
Time to go, but no one can know for sure. Woke up
This morning, already one full day of the new year
Behind me, which could only mean death remained,
Politely, in front of me, still waiting for me to catch up.
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