Burying of plants

Shanghai quarantine poem #5

How will it be
to be human again?
Like scrubbing me clean,
with wings enough –
to tell of life’s anger.
I’ve been gnawed,
like so many.
Abandoned and
without names.
But, I’m happier
than before.
And go on thinking,
without cease.
That I will fix
my soul, by a sun.
Whipping, and tied
between trees.
It’s loneliness,
unknown, and
pain free.

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