Virginal Year

It feels like poetry for a new beginning:
Running in slow motion,
Laying a fresh path in the
Tentative first snow of a virginal year.
Your hand shapes a safe home in which my
Shivering fingers nestle;
You sow a field of forgetting
Over the weary road behind.
Untouched and unafraid, this
Unfamiliar unconditionality, this
Darkness so vivid, this
Uncertainty so certain.
We build that which is
From that which we were.
In the sanctity of our year,
In the unwritten and pure,
You and I are as new in this moment
As ever we have been.
We are here.
We are now.
We are.