What did we look at
before we looked at screens,
the name we have accepted
for those flat rectangles
of pixels and nearly indestructible glass
my husband and I nightly bend
our heads toward for one last glimpse
of the wide world beyond
before we curve ourselves
around each other’s sleep?

This morning miles from him
and home I sit surrounded
by flush frames of cedar
to hold the metal mesh
of screen nearly invisible
between the woods and me.
Jagged slivers of blue
and sunlight strewn though canopy
of oak and pine is all I see
of world beyond this green.