(dedicated to the everlasting memory of John Prine, lyricist and singer, who died of Covid 19 on the 8th April)
The sky was clear today with streaks of blue
The supermoon with all its lunar perigee
Swirls in the sky reflect sombre horizons;
Behind my back cumulus clouds mass
Over the hills, conspiring in their usual
Ragged silence. In front of me are drear
Trees laid bare, a mist of water in the air.
The streets deserted, driven inside by Covid.
I’m not yet caught cough, cough, coughing
My habit in the cigarette-smoke-peasoupers
Of the past, I pull my coat tighter, focus keenly
On the patterns of infinitude, half-perceived
And half-created, imposed upon these
Far pavilions, by this over-active mind
Of mine. And all the time, the drag of
Discontent whispers in mine inner-ear:
‘Not here, nor there, not any where!’
….just another day, I’m afraid, to say.