Lockjaw
Strange aches in quarantine
for our phantom limbs:
others and nature.
memories, longings
waking hours & dreams blend
with the daze of the weak
outer and inner are unclear
--this overcast sky
or that hangover
With no end in sight
beginnings called into question:
did we, always, live this way?
Wait, did you hear that
are those birds chirping
or am I going mad?
Longing
It's natural, when relationships strain
and hurt mounts, that we recoil
from one another, retreating
into our selves to nurse wounds
But after a time, when we begin to heal,
bodies tingle with longing,
asking of us, insistently:
when can we touch, again?
