New Year Resolution

New Year

Tonight as the snow articulates silence
I wait to speak to you of sadness because
I have resolved to wait to speak to you
of everything. The time of year. The party
where you aren't allowed to slip me
out of my coat and throw it on the bed.
The bed you aren't allowed to throw me on.
The body. My body you aren't allowed
to bite until blood falls onto the white ground
like a map to a territory ruled by someone else
on paper. This time of year is always about paper.
Invitations. Christmas cards. Those party favors
that pop their joy across some other room at midnight
where someone who rules you on paper
will kiss you for show, for sport, for drunkenness
as I wait for my tongue to be called upon
the way a chorus waits to find its bridge.
The way the bridge I crossed the afternoon
my lips took their turn--we forgot about the rulers,
their papers--waits to clear of ice. The way the birds
you mentioned when you asked if I knew about birds
wait to whisper the date in my ear. To come.
To be ready.