Hands in pockets of an old jacket,
On a tree-bent sideroad to pick up
Sunday paper: Breaking: the moon behind
my shoulder and the sun ahead of me, over
Opposite horizons: who’s to say what
Is rising and what is falling: certainly not,
On this last morning of the worst year I’ve
Survived, the Sunday Washington Post.
Translations from the English 
Happy New Year! Well said. I knew the moon would be in there, somewhere
Aw, truth! And happy new year to you! Let’s hope it’s a good one, as John and Yoko said.
…..without any fear
And the children no one prays for
Love your apt succinctness – and great to read your poems again, Jeff!
Thanks so much!
Heh, a little poem that deftly holds much of Life’s heaviness. Very glad you survived to write another year, and wishing you a Much better one. – Ben There.
It is good to be here, in 2024. Here’s to a better year, Jeff. Tonight I’ll raise a glass to you and our old friend, the moon.
Happy New Year, Jeff! It’s good to read a new poem by you.