Instead of the live cry
of the seagull,

the ping of an email

instead of the beating of wings
on a wide expanse

our eyes squint
on a palm sized horizon

we control the sound
we control the light

we determine what and
when surprises arrive

in our hand
where the horizon now abides

we lose ourselves
in pixels—

a screen lights up at will
is it day or is it night?

gone is the mystery of
the setting sun

once clouds
signaled the end of day

we now control the flight of email
in a device held like a bible

— Abraham Menashe
© 2017