Here’s a poem for the new year by acclaimed (and prolific) poet Naomi Shihab Nye.
It’s called “Burning the Old Year” and I love its mix of quotidian objects (“lists of vegetables”) and the blazing metaphor (papers “sizzle like moth wings / marry the air”). Then there’s the sharp turn to absence, like the strike of a clock, and a blistering finish:
only the things I didn’t docrackle after the blazing dies.
It’s a neat, complex little poem, and I’d love to hear what you think of it.
Rosemary and Reading Glasses 
Poetry. It’s a difficult concept.
Don’t you mean it is a difficult concept, Saavik?
Exactly.