Entrained, en masse, an ebb as from a beach:
the tide drawn by the Capitol (the dome
our moon) subsides. We move as one, yet each
toward some divisibility called home.
The trope (an ocean’s oneness) seemed more apt,
or felt more apt, when, not so long ago,
the “each” was not each entity enrapt
by his or her respective plankton glow.
Each statuary gaze (the elbow crooked
like Ambrose holding his theology)
upon the screen is likewise overlooked.
Unseen is that there’s nothing here to see.
Did any of us wish for this, a phone
to leave ourselves reciprocally alone?
—Stephen Binns
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
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