The days of my life
in our shut down,
never say lockdown,
life starts with dog
duty and kitchen duty
and then some
personal duty
and reaching for
the computer as if
reaching desperately
for a salvific glass
of water to quench
a parched throat
and thirst — the
meditations by
the holy ones who
hold the pitcher
and pour and then
the poems galore.
And then, and only
then, the news of
the day and come
what may—hem…
from him
who holds not
the salvific pitcher
of holy water
but merely a
chokehold
and then I take
deep breaths
and watch the
dune grass
wave at me.