Hold

My head is cotton, a body of limbs under water and the whole apartment swims in a sweat. Somehow, the hours are longer in fever, I write and write, unencumbered by the normal restraints of society. The silence reminds me, somehow, of all the things that ever mattered, truths crystallized by the force of illness, by the non-negotiable holding of a breath, I meditated late in the night when the pills kept me from sleeping and all I could see was tenderness, how has this pandemic wiped your touch from my memory. 

How has this pandemic wiped my memory

?

I pick up a pen again. He asks about summer but winter is here, they speak of winter but I spent the day bathed in sunshine, I dreamed this little shoebox with all the windows into existence there is no

end to what magic

I can bring into
existence.