Binary 0 To show me how the web works you flick staccato light switches to send me messages in stuttering blocks of dark and yellow across evenings networked by streets with lamps like wires. Our pitch for communication; consummation in binary each dusk. So I scan the sills of windows, signals of on or off, for noughts and ones like morse code, our plural quirk. 1 One new message. Well past p.m. No idea what I’ve been doing since ten (I was watching a video, blogging and then…). Open. Neither of us have the time zone to excuse this digital rendezvous at two. Subject: News. I read and wonder if this is code, or a cue for something more than a late night reply; speculating what you are doing online and why, at this hour, you thought of me or us. And I,             RE: News, clatter a response into the night and feel some connection, simple delight, fanning half remembered embers into life. Alex Pryce If you have any comments on this poem, Alex Pryce would like to hear from you.