January first, two thousand seven,
Hard to face that New Year with not a thing
To do. So I yeasted Time with leaven—
Resolved to write one poem a week—to ring
In anxiety, devour hours—see
If I could energize my drifting fate.
Huzzah! I timely paid each week’s steep fee!
But how do I get through two thousand eight?
(12/21/07)