Shanghai quarantine poem: Day 14

A drowning man,

pulled into a covid world.

‘Do not resuscitate’-

say the dancing slum lords.

Out of the fog, a coyote choir

wake in a strange land.

And sing the old songs.

Razored through, with

body count after body count.

In a hotel, a poet waits –

bolted and chained.

Listening to the shrieks

of crakes – hopping in place.

Yet another false dawn.

On a bare branch,

plum rain beads –

suddenly materialize.

As if by magic.

A new dream time,

and the future of my bones.

Inside of me, a firefly

spits out a deep blue reach.

An ancient site…..

catching the rain.

A new leaf appears,

piercing the first mountain star.

This is just the way it is.