I read this beautiful poem, Futura Vecchia, New Year’s Eve, by Rebecca Elson in The Marginalian, Maria Popova’s fabulous ezine.
Returning, like the Earth
To the same point in space,
We go softly to the comfort of destruction,
And consume in flames
A school of fish,
A pair of hens,
A mountain poplar with its moss.
A shiver of sparks sweeps round
The dark shoulder of the Earth,
Frisson of recognition,
Preparation for another voyage,
And our own gentle bubbles
Float curious and mute
Towards the black lake
Boiling with light,
Towards the sharp night
Whistling with sound.
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