Forgone Seclusion

Asked about how many people will be
Next year, one can only answer in the
Negative, for less than that would be
Unlikely and more would be improbable
With different predictions for the
Sensibilities that cannot hold the
Water, in that glass sliced in half,
So that old pessimist's saw can rest
Easy, without that binary question
Coming into the room, interrupting
That wonderful, tortuous solitude