Sitting in a cafe,
Breathing across the static,
Nothing comes, nothing goes,
Distracted by others,
Consumed by their dominance,
Talking about the spectrum.
Their vibrancy makes you feel weak,
As you look across to the other seat.
The history wills you on,
But nothing flows, the air is thick,
From this house that you’ve built,
The windows are shut.
The silence is oppressive,
I’m O.K. with it if you are,
But people will talk for us, after we’ve left,
They’ll jest at just how bereft,
Adrift on separate seas,
Connections, not so easy.