My Neighbor’s Starship (2021)

Dark winter mornings
he backs out of his driveway.
His array of rear lights
refracted by my double pane kitchen window,
the fiery blast of an interstellar shuttle
leaving earth.

He's a mail carrier
with messages for the outposts and settlements
of humanity.
The orders for goods, family news, bills,
have not changed since writing was our newest technology.

We are so far away from each other again,
only electronic voices, images of faces,
never fast enough to bring us touch.
Creatures vulnerable to storms of disease
our technology approximates intimacy.

We will return to each other's arms,
to theaters, bars, schools and offices,
to stadiums and parks, shores and trails,
to coal mines and oil sands.

We will fly again above the clouds, someday
even to the stars.
Nothing is safe from us.