Reading only through windows fogs my impressions.
I forget how kind my neighbors are.
I go down to the street and see gifts change hands.
The lonely find each other and fill each other’s hearts.
Some few of those sad foggy voices are real.
They are frightened by collaboration.
They set fire to the parliament and try to blame us.
We put it out by bleeding rainbows.
We are promised cages
and begin to sing in advance.