Jaws for January

I hate January. January is a two-faced bitch.
Too close to the past, too far from the future
and all that talk about endings and beginnings and
not least, not last,
the high-laced boot
the scent, the snarl
of every war
I'll have to fight
and more.

So I dive back into December
the few days of December
when I still had you:
my shield, my secret sun
my white wizard...
I sit there a while
and hold your hand
and try to unlock
your last smile.
You feed your warm, long memories
to stranded swallows
and empty pigeons...
and they fly before I catch them,
and you fly too
inside a blizzard.

And then this bitch January
Comes and closes the gate.

Where do I go now?
Is it too late?

So full of longing and rage,
so careless am I and light,
so new (that's the spirit in January, right?)

I open my blue jaws
and crunch the harpy
in two.