Portrait at night, with vulnerability

The cat is asleep beside me.
Music drifts in from a café somewhere down the street.
Someone calling from another part of France tonight told me he could see what looked like a full moon. I can’t see it from here.
Someone calling from America told me it was a fine morning in the streets of New York and brings some news, good and not so good.
Someone sends me an email from a train en route to Frankfurt and offers to talk by Skype.
Earlier I did Skype with someone more than a thousand miles away. The sound was unstable and the Webcam image shaky, making my correspondent (and probably me, too) look like a Cubist painting in warm gold and ocher tones.
I answer emails to people on three continents and say goodnight to my son in the next room.
Throughout the time and across the space, I sense not what separates us but rather what we have in common, all vulnerable, nothing to hold, together in this moment slipping endlessly away and forever arising anew.