A poem I wrote late one night when my children were very young and everyone in the house was asleep came to mind recently. I found myself awake late at night, reading intermittently, and thinking about my family and friends. Everyone I know–everyone we all know–is subject to a new way of thinking about the world. About where we go, what we do, and with whom. We will get back to our old ways, and we’ll adopt some new ways of interacting. But until then–and afterward–we will find a measure of peace when we know our family and friends are safe.

Quiet

All whose addresses I know,
all whose numbers I could call,
and all who rest under this roof
tonight, sleep. Chests rise and fall
in unconscious rhythms, hearts
race and slow to the adrenaline
of dreams. Not the geological
sleep we wander toward. In
relative silence rather than
absolute lies the quiet I love.
I hear God humming at his work
undisturbed by thoughts of us.