Something New

 by J. K. Durick     

It’s the newness of the new that’s endearing,
the pristine feel of it, the un-faded glory of it,
the way it makes us want more, and to go on
and on with beginnings, and starting points,
and breaking things in, the getting to know
a harmless unknown.

It’s the time before routine and the expected
give it that familiar foreign feel  and wear us
down with it, tire it and us to a silence that
aging makes of all things, once new and then
just waiting to disappear, but today that seems
far away, impossible.

It’s the way the first robin or snowstorm makes
us feel, new again, even when we know how
naïve that is, how repetition and time will win
out again, but, of course, we’ll welcome the next
robin, the first few flakes falling, we’ll run out
to see the newness of things.