Right now, as I flick on the switch in my bedroom,
someone else in my neighborhood is turning off
the light in theirs. On the next block, a raccoon shies away
from a garbage can when the motion detector light
goes on, but not before snatching a crust of bread.
In the next town, in a room lit only by a laptop screen,
a perfect stranger reads one of my poems online,
while some kid in the dimly lit parking lot of a convenience store
decides whether to hold it up. A junkie in the nearby city
makes a deal with the devil under a strobing halogen street light,
while in the next state, a man who has been driving
with a broken headlight and two days without sleep
drifts over the middle stripe in the road.