First

Pray,

cut me close

like a fresh razor

drifting on the edge 

of melancholy.

At dusk on this first day

of a new year

I am on the fringe of delicate ice

of the mind where disbelief

freezes like crystals

mid-thought.

Somehow sunset crouches near the road

ready to throw me into the inky darkness

of a steep ditch and leave me

until the rumble of morning

shoulders the way home.

This stupor sinks in,

standing at the head of the line

waiting for some kindness

to break the silence.