In the Diaspora of the Lights

Darkness had frayed as it multiplied.

For every new surveyor’s stake topped

With a black flag, the new medieval

Conjecture of sea monsters edging

An exquisite, inadequate map,

The new, we’re-unsure-what-could-be-here,

Now marked not by blank but by that word,

Dark, there was another string of lights

Headed into orbit, another

Blazing skyscraper culling more birds,

Another parade of bright billboards,

Another gigantic, glowing eye.

Meanwhile, from tech salons to book clubs,

From Davos to the Dark Web (what else?)

People forecast the return of night,

Half of them pretending they’d prepared

Or could prepare in time for a fight.

The whole discussion would be dated,

Ridiculous within two decades,

But for now, in the light’s pollution,

The favorite topic was darkness,

Darknesses, divisions of the dark,

As one by one, the usual ways,

Private darkness once again went dark.