The first two cross the threshold,
Their plans for the new year
Vaguely scribbled across their faces,
Yet to cross
The conflicting agendas
That would fully erase
Any trace
Of their intentions.

Five more come in their wake,
Already spawning barriers;
Seating arrangements, class schedules—
Dictate love,
Dictate friendship,
And in their indifference
Separate the shy lovers and friends—
And the once living potential,
Fragile,
Made of glass,
Shatters there on the spot,
Against the floor,
The shards of possibility landing between
The once optimistic.

And the universe does not cry;
The universe does not laugh,
Does not scold,
Nor point,
Nor stare,
And in its inaction
Mothers the question:
“What now?”