That sound you hear? It’s a melting iceberg knocking
on your door before lifting the house off its foundation!
Under the command of whichever homeowner has most equity,
the flotilla of uplifted houses sets out in search of Nova Terra Firma.
Basements have been left behind. Porches now part company,
rocking chairs rocking in remembrance of absent occupants.
Wires trail in the water as if trolling for fish. At sea,
at last, parents and children are at liberty not to watch TV.
Anchors aweigh! They move in silence beyond the news,
rudderless, at the mercy of currents, the whim of the wind.
Did we not always want to live like this, away from it all?
And when did we last know where we were headed?