Streaming Netflix is the opposite of action, a nap

kept low-burning on the margins as if not

existing I don’t exist as if slipped from the yoke of life simple

lazy the hours pass until the active life, its people and tethers

ether-wisp into a faint of memory, a trace. The small art and craft of

talk, how did we manage it? Some things stayed the same, like our nostalgia for

Obama, like insomnia. Faraway places became more and more like this place.

Nights were felt as a stream of departures in the hive.