1 What we have not heard will never help us. What we have not seen by now will never save. The city drowned under winter sunlight like a bad migraine, the bars shut down, hint of a pandemic in the air, in wind invisible, the guess and gust of wings. The pigeons have come home to die. There are corpses floating in the trees. 2 There are corpses floating in the trees. High clouds roll over as on holiday. The sun, impassive as a president, palters for time and tide. Once we could pray with honest hunger for whatever life drew from its magician’s hat; now rabbits sicken on the mutant vine and hunger is our habitat. We are hungry. We have never been so hungry. 3 What we have not followed leads us now. What follows is a thing we never dreamed. Prisoners storm the empty coliseum. In its cage, the gaunt heart screams. Beneath ground, gears and levers issue another victim to the light. The trapdoor opens: thunder erupts like anesthetic through the night. The bars swing open. We have all gone under.