new year same bath water

new year same bath water;
that’s the beauty of unfinished business

south of the equator
where i usually go rogue
because the world scares me
less than my own life

and so it began:
swimming with old versions of me while
withered petals rose and fell in time
with the blowhole of my belly

pairs of eyes multiplying year by year, growing
like a collection in places i may never see
again save for in the water
’s reflection

lands old, but even more foreign
than the ends of the earth
where i usually begin…

i think i’m gonna like it here