New Year

His mind wonders
about my sacred items,
smell of sage, fire burning
with divine magick
in the wheels beginning,
food offered to ancestors
giving them warm cider,
apples, cinnamon, pumpkin,
runes tossed around
while plastic bats frame our loss
where I sit, celebrating,
with pride in dying sun,
bitter tear of the crescent
moon, altar lined with jack-o-lanterns
&, all a display the wiccans use
for honoring them,
the continued cycle of our short lives,
with candy we rejoice, our souls
in death, reborn.