So now I’ve seen the Northern Lights
without shifting from my room.
A GPS tracker of my movements
would be just a steady blob,
a mosquito trapped in amber.
Yes, sediment tends to settle,
but this feels like identity theft,
as if I were a crisis actor
dressed in a borrowed costume
for a party I did not want to attend,
watching the rapidly receding backs
of all those lost, ungrateful moments.
What comes next is hard to say;
there is no reliable information
and I am running out of rumours.
Published in Streetcake
S.C. Flynn 