The year begins, as the streets are chaotic past dusk

Looking back, our breath rides against our footsteps

In the fallen snow, gleaming in the street lights' glow

As a dozen shadows fall from view

And, to the day, the bottles burst

Into glasses that are raised

To the endless world of feigned resolutions

But only the year will be maintained

Until it itself is out

Other than old habits which resignedly stay

Through sun and snow alike

As both aptly appear in January