On the train home, New Year's Eve

This day is old and grey,
through the grime of a carriage window,
dying trees mourn into black water.

The world is split in two,
ready to be washed away,
and I close my eyes,
impossibly tired like the year.

I imagine January.

Sunlight streaming through my kitchen window.
The coffee pot bubbling away.
And you, calling me back to bed.