It was an easy road but stricken with glitter,
always horizon as a vision of home.
It was vital and virtual, drowsily actual, like a cloud on water.
Change, when it came, came so soft it seemed a seem.
Now time lies on the town like a town.
The streets are empty and the doors are shut.
God? Consider the shiver that goes through still water like a sound.
Who would we have to be to hear it?