if we move rapidly
inside this honeycomb

maybe we’re somehow balancing
on solid ground

while earthquake tremors
sound off beneath our feet

art recovered from tasks:
            eat, commute, laugh
we wander toward home

faces buried in cell phones
lightning bugs
comet dust

this city:
something like
            the pulse in our fingertips 

something like
the heartache poem
we can’t seem to perfect

so we write, rewrite, 
we wander toward home 

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ANNE STRAND is a writer from coastal Maine, USA. Her poems and short stories have been featured in journals including Sonora Review, Angel City Review, and The Metaworker. Connect with her on twitter @anniestrannie