the year we wished we could 
pack up 
banish into the loft 
or 
post off and 
discard to a distant land

how to make sense of a time
where the only gift 
was darkness 

the forest whispers 
'do nothing' 
the next year will come 
will always, steadily, reliably 
wrap around this one

the year contained 
in the one ring 
where it could not and never 
harm the former years 
those rings having already 
been laid down 
the sap coming up from the roots 
the leaves transforming light
into life 
in the dependable cycle 

closure will come slowly 
in the encasing of this ring 
within the sure and certain hope 
of rings to come
bringing protection
in their growth 
and with their bark.