Pandemic Diary Excerpts

Togetherness and banishment,
wife and I smoldering on the living room couch,
our tiny continent.

I open the amazon packages.
She reminds me to wash my hands.
I escape into her beauty.

From the window, I watch my neighbor
kiss his dog on the mouth.
Life through a telescope.

Mornings are inexhaustible.
What to talk about?
Our poop vocabulary is expanding;
two current favorites:
Night Train to Memphis,
Children of a Lesser God.
Mornings are exhausting.

Sitting in the back yard,
a lone bird floats across my peripheral vision,
a blurred half-silhouette, like a mystic sign.
Time of lost time.

Every day I walk through the neighborhood
past faceless windows and overgrown lawns.
I am hungry from morning to night.
Is it this easy to undo the world?

I am a swamp of murky thoughts.
I try not to dwell, but fear creeps into me,
my body charged with mortality.
Last night, dreams filled with trees,
the trees full of crows.

The house draws into itself.
I am mesmerized by my metabolism.
Life through a microscope.

We need to move.