Pandemic
Time folds into itself like a
hand wraps around its own
fingers. Minutes go into
seconds, the reverse of
times own practicality.
I waver between the worlds
of sleep and starking
wakefulness. I move
during the disconnections
of place and action.
I will arrive, as Eliot said,
at a place of beginning.
Not to recognize my
neighbor is a conclusion
forgone as the inversion
of time depletes me.
This is sacred time
ordained by nature.
I thrive or succumb
and in the end I will
be very different.
I morph as the virus
spreads nature.
That time will end for
me is its only goal.
The pandemic is
unbleached. I
sacrifice myself
to the gods of
unknowing.
Caroline Shank
Prompt:. Covid-19