Propulsion

The uncountable miracles,
we are starting to count them.
Our apartment is littered with abaci
and aching remnants of a great rest.
Each day we re-adjust the blinds,
searching and researching
for the exact angle of the arms
of the clock it takes for a slant
of sunlight to sear the canals
of our blood vessels.
We have been trying to keep the floor level.
We have been crowding the lifeboat
to increase our chances of being seen
by the errant ship that will
veer towards us with a rescuing spirit.
See each of their faces fall as we tell them,
Sorry for wasting your time, folks,
but we're fine just where we are.
Keeping watch through the lazy eye
in the door, I spy the fragrant vacancy
of dumb talkers and empty listeners.
Take a deep breath in.
You could smell it too.