Curled up in cornered boxes of my diary,

Sticky webs stamp in the slow dying days.

Clinging on to yesterday’s memories,

December’s gallery lacks my January greys:

Hazy grids hang loosely on walls of stone,

I scan for versions prior to my loss.

Companions alike all wishing me gone,

Elegies cramped on soft-slate plaques embossed.

Expressions wear out and gilded frames droop

Shape-shifting features forever apiece.

The turning circle once again a loop

Epiphany hoping: futility

Walking down darkened corridors I plea

How can I ever get through January?

Image: Melisenta Kozlova