two thousand fifteen on the rocks with a twist of something shiny.
a frigid day, a diamond day,
a leaden time of lifeless gray.
a grinding year, a year like stone,
abrasive, hard, revealing bone.
it stymied me, it stifled me,
it ended things, some utterly.
a final sun sinks hard and cold,
and, blinding me, pours out its gold.