At some point,
hopefully before it’s too late,
(though the hour is way dark early
and dawn will catch some far from any cover)
there will be an awakening.
As in a dream,
the world shifts
and from just out of sense and sight
you hear your name called,
feel like a caress, something,
deeper than memory stirring.
Then, perhaps, a shaking like a tremble, like a shudder,
the wind on the leading edge of a frontal boundary
peeling back the plastic shreds of our collective cling-on nightmare.