in perilous times
we join the otherworld
the lives lived outside
our bubble

who do we thank for this?
who’s driving this bus?
who’s at the helm?
who jiggles the joystick?

we man our posts
soothe ourselves
but must come to terms

I saw a cormorant, wings spread
drying herself in the wind after lunch
oblivious to the dilemma of our recklessness
but snared nevertheless in its reach

but time itself is oblivious,
and space.

so who?

Jim Culleny