“The Old Year’s gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,
In this he’s known by none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more of substance when they’re here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall–
A guest to every heart’s desire,
And now he’s nought at all.
Old papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
Are things identified;
But time once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year’s Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.”
(John Clare)
🎇🌆 https://www.instagram.com/p/CJgzXHABTLk/?igshid=esa7glb5w5su
“When the moon promises good lighting on hands, a cross path on the quiet devouring nests with white feet.
We hear the city, fold the laundry.”
(‘End of the City Map’ - Farhad Showghi)
🌔 (at Fazzenda Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJH676RBT-2/?igshid=1a5i25ahdntoq
