and none shall sleep

The clocks have stopped.

Time, in our perception,

does not exist.

In imposed stillness,

we sense the earth's slow shift

beneath our feet,

the effect destabilizing,

as if we have contracted some dis-ease

of the inner ear.

Time zones and borders

do not exist,

checkpoints are abandoned:

no one wants to cross.

Big Ben has ceased its bass-note gong,

the Glockenspeil refuses to celebrate

an olden king.

In San Marco's piazza,

two bronze figures

rest.

Oh, silent night,

pandemic night,

consolation of having

our hours measured .

gone.

A low murmur spreads

across the earth,

enters the oceans.

Sea mammals and fish swim

in non-concentric circles,

internal compasses disabled

by the low-pitched hum.

Birds choose a branch,

bury heads beneath their wings ---

what they can't see won't hurt them.

The murmur grows

in increments,

becomes an Esperanto

requiem of loss,

leaves auditory signs

to interpret.

I can't breathe.