Objects at Rest Have Zero Velocity

Do you remember when everything still
seemed possible—when a small vacation 

to someplace with wide skies and sunlight 
bouncing off white sand and the white walls 

of a village felt within reach; when paying for 
contingencies didn't break the bank; when 

starting over didn't feel like privilege or just 
another chance to make the same mistakes, 

but simply the universe finally recognizing it 
was willing to give you the break it should have 

given you all those years ago? Toward the end
of the year, towns along the Rhine set up fairy 

lights and Christmas markets, and the cruise 
ships let out passengers from other worlds— 

They walk amid tables groaning with gingerbread, 
jaunty tin soldiers, red-vested nutcrackers 

and glass ornaments. Can you imagine the clove-
scented air and the cold, everyone's frosted breath

the thinnest tinsel threading the air? Once, 
you held a snow globe and shook it to watch 

the little storms of dust and sparkle trapped 
under glass: how they cycloned around 

a miniature house whose inhabitants, if any, 
would never dream of evacuating to a safer port.