New Year's Poem
The Christmas twigs crispen and needles rattle
 Along the window-ledge.
              A solitary pearl
 Shed from the necklace spilled at last week’s party
 Lies in the suety, snow-luminous plainness
 Of morning, on the window-ledge beside them.   
 And all the furniture that circled stately
 And hospitable when these rooms were brimmed
 With perfumes, furs, and black-and-silver
 Crisscross of seasonal conversation, lapses
 Into its previous largeness.
              I remember   
 Anne’s rose-sweet gravity, and the stiff grave
 Where cold so little can contain;
 I mark the queer delightful skull and crossbones
 Starlings and sparrows left, taking the crust,
 And the long loop of winter wind
 Smoothing its arc from dark Arcturus down
 To the bricked corner of the drifted courtyard,
 And the still window-ledge.
              Gentle and just pleasure
 It is, being human, to have won from space
 This unchill, habitable interior
 Which mirrors quietly the light
 Of the snow, and the new year.
                
                    
                        "New Year’s Poem" by Margaret Avison. Reprinted from Always Now: The Collected Poems (in three volumes) by Margaret Avison, by permission of the Porcupine’s Quill. © The Estate of Margaret Avison, 2003.
                    
                
            
                                                
                        
                            
                    
                        Source:
                        Always Now: The Collected Poems
                                                                                                                                                                    (The Porcupine's Quill, 2003)