Connection

 

In the noise of the world

The never-ending chaos

There's a cable buried,

Thick as a baby's arm.

 

It hums with currents,

Pulsing beneath our feet

As we walk unaware,

Searching for its plug.

 

The black nights come,

Whispering unknowns,

Yet here’s a light socket

In the heart's dark room.

 

We plug in and suddenly

The room blooms with laughter,

The kind you hear in the mess

Of a busy kitchen at supper.

 

When the earth heaves a sorrow,

And the skies choke with grief,

We knit together, stitch by stitch,

A blanket of small acts.

 

It doesn’t matter if it rains

Or if the blanket never warms.

Our hands are alive on the loom,

And so, we have purpose.