In this quagmire of a virus
That spreads like quicksilver
Over the country everywhere
Yes even before here
The world
I would write of the sadness
Concern that borders fear
Inside me
I feel with my every breath
But words are no longer
Liquid
They wrap themselves around
Tears
That speak for them
In inarticulate language
I struggle to express
In these weeks of reported
Illness
Reported deaths
Numbers fall into thousands
Thousands
Beyond my ability to conceive
This is real
I pray for them
Pray for the Light of the Universe
To surround every hospital
Every blessed one that cares
For the ill
Closes the eyes of the dead
Alone alone alone
Their families
With the rest of us
Sequestered now
At home at home
-2-
Every morning
I open the shutters
Of my bedroom windows
To look up
Into the sky
Is it clear or covered
With clouds
Is the distant hill
Distinct or shrouded in mist
Each day is of itself
Hour follows hour
It is as it has always
Been
One morning
I look I see
A new leaf then another
And another
On the bare branches
Of the Crepe Myrtle
It is late March
Time for new leaves
To arrive on this tree
And they do
For everything there is a season
And a time for every matter
Under heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3.1