By: T.S. Rowell
July 5 2020
When it began, for an uncertain duration this was to be a month of stillness two months of these same walls or maybe just one summer of inside It’s a little cowpath knot I pace I am at the sofa, or chair, or kitchen table, walking this circuit like circling the drain Flushing my prior years of get-in-the-car to work or get-to-the-bar evening or get-to-the-store weekend down, down and away For some time first, I imagined nothing For some time after, I began small dreams For some time now, I see limitless sky.
Categories: Poetry, shelter-in-place
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