New Years

The first poem of the new year written while sitting on Kuhio Street and begun when I followed a lady of the night awhile as she staggered down the street, then turned off a side street on her high heeled slippers, homeward,after a successful night. I sat down at the bakery and hoped that the sadness to her walk was just the full weariness of hard work and nothing more. It is a new year and like the Chinese icon for tomorrow, I see a little sun pore between the clouds of drizzle. A hopeful dragon's breathe for the new day. We humans think for more than what we see. Hope, addictive drink!