The morning we awoke – and they’d cut us off,
Without internet, unawares – it rained a great deal.
Phones received nothing. Our screens finally ignored us.
There were no alerts, for which to stay alert.
I padded the kitchen, lit a fire for the kettle,
Drew water from the well, sang to myself that song
From my old country. You emerged, showered from the stream,
And still wet, we held each other and watched the rain.
By some sweet miracle, we had nothing, dearest nothing,
And you gave me the news – no internet – just as a blessing.
It was a blessing, just as the quiet rain.
Nobody in the whole, weird world knew we were there.
No photographs, no comments. No change of status.
Our loving, lost morning with the rain, and nothing stirred.
Around a month ago something happened with our broadband. All our access, all our wifi, just radiated white noise. There was nothing: by some accident of fate, or some technical fault, we were cut off from everything for an entire day. And it was one of the most precious days I have ever had.