Power Outage

Bricks of darkness clatter through the windows.
Virtual space yawns, collapses us back
into the body, into the pink cove
of the mouth, the arch of the synapse,
the dove of loneliness, the blackbird of company.
It is uncomfortable, so much of the self:
gums and guts sounding the body’s memory,
these stories recalling the taste of health.

Somewhere we hope hearts still beep
And the bombs lie asleep in their sheds.
We have learned the cost of silence is cheap.
It is time, it is time to go to bed.