Poem: December 16, 2021

Renaissance

It’s true we have created

terrible machines

that reduce us

to two-dimensional 

fun house reflections

of ourselves.

And we have lived

frivolously and out

of step with our world,

so that our world

seems to push us

in hard ways.

And clearly we fail

one another, and so, 

carry our shadows

and sadness and shame,

like Marley’s chains,

scratching heavily

behind us.

But I hear the whisper

we make, this ocean

of us. I hear the sound

that aches below.

And I imagine our waking.

I imagine our waking.