From All Accounts This Is a City

Poem in the inbox lands differently
When it sets off reverberations of close
To the vest past vs. veteran pasts.

That is, a onetime city dweller back
In town from more countrified deserts
And sitting by a window that might

As well be another glassy glowing
Screen for all the electric halos burning
On the other side feels more of a shock

Of recognition reading yet another
Urbanite lyric on a glassy glowing screen
Than browsing the same rectangle

Under skies still so dark a phone hurts
The eyes when it lights up at the touch.