I‘m embittered by isolation like Ado turned to salt
but outside, the flowers are dueling for attention.
I am mortared in this seclusion as Catullus rendered stone
yet outdoors, trees bask and frolic in the sun.
I'm locked in place, punished, like I'd smiled at Medusa
yet the squirrels go about their gatherings as birds forage.
I am gently constrained, but freedom nips at the air and invites memory.