Turn of a Year

　　 by Joan Houlihan

　　 This is regret： or a ferret. Snuffling，

　　 stunted， a snout full of snow.

　　 As the end of day shuffles down

　　 the repentant scurry and swarm-

　　 an unstable contrition is born.

　　 Bend down. Look into the lair.

　　 Where newborn pieties spark and strike

　　 I will make my peace as a low bulb

　　 burnt into a dent of snow. A cloth to keep me

　　 from seeping. Light crumpled over a hole.

　　 Why does the maker keep me awake？

　　 He must want my oddments， their glow.

　　-