A day of forgotten passwords and usernames
Empty screens and open hours
The buzz of news and commentary quieted
No messages, no “you’ve got mail”
The whirl stops
Then some old kind of strength returns
And morning feels like morning
The mind orients to the day
To the tasks ahead and the people to meet
Like a compass needle
Rocking on its axis, then locking true north
Oh, there is the old power
Like youth renewed
This must be how the saints feel
How could I have left this behind?
What is worth such a loss?
What had I forgotten?