As sleepy, drugged, bored as we are,
we may have neglected to ponder the difference
between what we made and what made us,
between light turned on and light rising up,
between a spark in the dark and infinite sun.
Forcing the point with a floodlight,
we exchanged the golden heavens for a bulb Made In China.
The hum of the fridge and the elevator jazz band
are gradually deafening us to the distinctions
between cacophony and harmony,
between inner narrative and ads on TV,
between rivers with birds and our Nature Sounds CD.
Even when sleeping, white noise,
so that even in dreams we can’t hear ourselves think.
We forgot the stillness. We forgot the silence. We forgot the morning.
When God turns on the light will we still stay asleep?