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mysterium points me to an e.e. cummings poem, which makes a compelling way to start a new year:
all nearness pauses, while a star can grow
all nearness pauses, while a star can grow
all distance breathes a final dream of bells;
perfectly outlined against afterglow
are all amazing the and peaceful hills
(not where not here but neither’s blue most both)
and history immeasurably is
wealthier by a single sweet day’s death:
as not imagined secrecies comprise
goldenly huge whole the upfloating moon.
Time’s a strange fellow;
more he gives than takes
(and he takes all) nor any marvel finds
quite disappearance but some keener makes
losing, gaining
–love! if a world ends
more than all worlds begin to (see?) begin