The year ends as it began, with snow
falling on the hills of Pittsburgh, and
something like hope rises and falls
with the snow, something like frozen
tears descend and are carried by the wind
into the unknown days and months
ahead, with a new number and name
but the same challenges and heartaches
and perhaps unseen opportunities to rise
ourselves or else fall and keep falling,
drifting to the ground, slowly building
layer upon layer of icy death and beauty,
slowly building a blanket for the earth,
which will without doubt turn to spring.
